Whisked away
by pink.love.rocks
Summary: Wendy, John, and Michael are whisked away to a new adventure along with the new maid of the Darling house. They join Peter in Neverland in the midst of a new war in which the very magic of the island is threatened. WendyxPeter JohnxOC?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all! Well, I hope you enjoy my Peter Pan fanfiction. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan or any of the characters from the book. **

Dawn paced up and down that corridor nervously smoothing her laced apron constantly just so her hands could be occupied. She rubbed and tangled her fingers with the lace furiously, waiting. This was it. The most honorable Darling family had just given her a job her at their lavish new abode. It was still much of the old Darling house. In fact it was the old Darling house, with just a few new rooms added on along with a maid house. This never changed the mystical and magical happenings that came upon the Darling house. This never changed that fact that the old English house had been touched by the charm of a certain boy.

She watched the lamps on the hall flicker slightly as a door opened sending a draft their way. She eyed the exquisite silver tray that rested upon a wooden table next to her in the hall. The silver ware and glasses on the tray mocked her. She couldn't help but imagine all of the things that could go wrong. In her mind she pictured herself carrying that silver tray and tripping over her own feet, spilling a mess of red wine all over a woman's dress. She shook the thought away and again occupied her hands with her apron.

Suddenly she heard it, her cue. Quickly she glanced at a small mirror on the wall making sure her dark hair was in place just right. After all, a houses servants say much about the masters. Dawn drew in a shaky breath and slid her fingers carefully around the handles of the cold silver tray. Her maid shoes tapped on the dark wooden floor as she walked in counted rhythm. As she drew closer she could hear the soft buzz of voices as they trailed through the closed double doors. A single drop of sweat escaped through her hairline and trickled down her cheek. It was only natural for her to be so nervous. For Dawn, was only fifteen years of age. Born into a family of maids and servants, her family had lived and served in the Darling house ever since Mr. Darling became the president of his entirely wealthy bank.

It was Dawn's first event in which she would be serving. Slowly, she proceeded down the hall hoping desperately that the wine and glasses on her tray would somehow stay completely still. Dawn paused at the threshold of the great two doors taking in another breath. The doorman opened the door for her and a rush of voices and clattering dinnerware flooded toward her. She spotted Wendy and John Darling among the crowd of people at the grand table.

Lovely women sat in their sleek slender dresses and chattered among themselves with their hands folded neatly when they finished eating. Their long hair drawn up into tight designs and their mouths moving at a counted pace, only speaking when a lady should. Dawn's hazel eyes continued to peer around at the people searching for Mr. Darling.

He sat at the head of the grand mahogany table laughing loosely about something. He wore a black suit with an elegant sapphire blue tie, and golden cufflinks. His hair was smoothed back and he smiled, flashing a glace toward his wife, Mrs. Darling.

Dawn slowly made her way around the table headed toward Mr. Darling with his wine. She skirted around in her black maid dress and white laced apron trying to look as flawless as possible for a maid.

"Wine Master Darling?" she asked curtly standing before him.

"Why, yes thank you, Dawn." He responded. Dawn poured the red liquid into his glass carefully and bowed her head respectfully.

"Anything else gentlemen?" she inquired looking at each of the men sitting near Mr. Darling in their dark suits and elegant ties and cufflinks. Several men asked for white wine or a little brandy, when their wives looked away. Dawn just smiled and gave them each a "Right away sir," before heading toward the door.

Dawn passed by several people heading straight for the door. Everything was going excellent so far, she wanted to get out before she could mess any of it up. Suddenly she felt a hand touch her arm. Dawn stiffened instinctively trying to still her grip on the tray. She turned putting on a smile for the person.

"Yes, John- uh- Mr. Darling?" she stuttered correcting herself in the way she addressed John Darling. "Is there something you need?" she asked politely. John shook his head.

"No, Dawn. I just wanted to tell you that you are doing an excellent job. Do try to be less nervous." He whispered. Dawn blushed slightly, a pink settling on her cheeks. John looked so much more like a man with his suit and tie. He was nearing sixteen now, as well as Wendy who seemed to become more of a woman every day. John flourished at these events, seeming to have gained a natural talent for social interaction from his father. Wendy was not as social, but she always looked stunningly gorgeous.

"Oh, and Dawn? Would you mind getting my gloves from my dresser? I seem to have forgotten them, and I will need them for the dance." Wendy asked sweetly.

"Yes, of course Wen- uh- Ms. Darling." Dawn replied. She bowed and exited the dining room.

As soon as she exited the room, Dawn breathed a sigh of relief. She had done it. She now realized, however, that she had been completely over reacting.

The silver tray clattered as she set it down on the table in the hall. Dawn headed straight for Wendy's bedroom, now no longer shared with Michael and John. She entered the dark nursery and immediately lit a candle. It flickered as she walked swiftly and effortlessly to the dresser. Dawn had been in this room so many times before. She favored it above all the others, simply because she always felt a tingle inside of her when she entered. The room seemed to have the spirit of fun etched in its very walls.

Dawn sighed as she opened the dresser drawer. It was still there. The dust that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't clean. Sometimes she wondered if it was actually dust at all, most of the time she figured that it had been glitter used for arts and crafts. She concluded that it had just been there so long that it was set into the wood. After all, that dresser had been in the nursery since Wendy was a child. The "dust" as Dawn called it, glittered slightly in a golden color. There had been an instance when Dawn had notified Wendy that it just simply wouldn't and couldn't be cleaned. Wendy had just looked at it and smiled. "It's a part of the nursery. I think it's a quite exquisite type of glittering dust. Don't you?" she had said.

Dawn fished in the drawer for Wendy's gloves, but instead found herself touching something hard. She drew he hand back in an instant wondering what on earth she had come upon. Daring to reach back inside the drawer, she pulled out a necklace.

In her hand lay a little silver chain with what seemed like an acorn hanging from it. She rubbed her finger over the little nut and felt a small dent in it. Other than that, though, it was just an ordinary acorn. Dawn shrugged and laid it atop the dresser while she continued to fish for Wendy's gloves. Finally she came upon the laced white gloves and headed out of the nursery and down the hall, forgetting all about the acorn necklace she had left resting on the dresser.

Scurrying back down the hall, Dawn halted abruptly to pick up her silver tray and head off to the kitchen to fetch the men's whiskey and wine. The kitchen was bustling with activity as maids cleaned plates, made food, and searched cabinets. Soap bubbles floated carelessly in the air as dishes were scrubbed off all trace of food. Cabinets were opened and shut, and shoes tapped nosily on the tile floor, scurrying to serve the diner's deserts. Dawn navigated and slid her way through the banging and clanging, traveling toward the wine cellar. She made it and immediately fetched the drinks, ready to leave the crowded area.

She hurried down the hall, again taking in a deep breath before nodding to the doorman to open the doors. Once again the clatter of voices and silverware came tumbling out of the large dining place. Dawn felt a shiver of slight nervousness as she entered the room carrying the wine. Again, the possibility of spilling it flashed through her mind. Wendy smiled as Dawn stepped into the room unnoticed by the others who were heavily engaged in conversation. Dawn scurried over to her.

"Here, you are Ms. Darling." She said, internally patting herself on the back for correctly addressing Wendy. Wendy took the delicate laced gloves from Dawn's tray, and slipped them into her lap.

"Thank you," she mouthed, before turning toward the woman in front of her and continuing a conversation about her dress. Dawn soon traveled away toward Mr. Darling to serve more wine.

* * *

Wendy absentmindedly listened to the woman sitting across from her, known as Mrs. Faintellon. Inside her mind, Wendy was in a completely different place. She only heard bits and pieces of phrases from Mrs. Faintellon.

"…I heard that… blue sapphires… the meal… maids… bank… the ball," were the only words that made it completely to Wendy's mind as the woman talked. She fiddled with her laced gloves in her lap, letting her mind wander. As she caressed the silk in her hands she felt something strange. It was not strange in the way the word is usually categorized. It was a pleasant kind of strange. Wendy stole a glance down at the gloves and immediately spotted the source.

A fine golden powder rested in the creases of the silk and lace, emitting a soft glow and warmth into Wendy's fingers. Her fingertips tingled as she realized what it was. Quickly, she looked back up at Mrs. Faintellon continuing to half-listen to her. A series of events flashed in front of Wendy's eyes as she remembered them vividly.

"Peter…" she whispered aloud. John, who sat next to her, heard the whisper. He flashed a glance at her.

"I'm sorry, what was that dear?" Mrs. Faintellon asked curiously.

"I-uh- nothing. I'm terribly sorry, but what is it you where saying about the ball?" Wendy asked, reaching over under the table and discreetly shoving the gloves onto John's leg.

"Well, I was just saying that the dance should start any minute now." Mrs. Faintellon explained. Meanwhile, John felt the gloves slip into his lap as he conversed with another boy. He fumbled with them, wondering what on earth Wendy had been thinking when she gave them to him. Suddenly, he felt it. He quickly gave Wendy a knowing nudge and slid the silk gloves into her hands.

Just then Mr. Darling stood up from his chair. Wendy just now realized that she had missed the announcement of the dance beginning. Chairs slid out from everywhere as the guests began to head to the ballroom.

* * *

Women glided elegantly around the ballroom floor. Swinging effortlessly in and out the arms of their partner, their dresses swept across the tile, flowing around them exquisitely. Wendy watched thoughtfully as her brother danced quite nervously with a young girl from the Sparrow family. Wendy glanced around at the windows of the ballroom that stood tall and long bringing in a view of the evening sky. She stared up at the ceiling and imagined flying. Her mind wandered into thoughts of Peter. She slipped her gloves on and her fingers tingled and she giggled girlishly with delight.

Some odd familiar feeling seized Wendy as she thought about Peter. Suddenly, she couldn't wait to see him again, even after she had waited so long, she knew he was coming soon.

* * *

Wendy entered the nursery, thoughts about being a lady flooding her mind. How would Peter react to seeing her? She had grown much over the years. She had done exactly what Peter had told her not to do. The nursery lamp flickered to life as she lit it, and illuminated most of the room with a soft glow. Wendy slid off her gloves and glided over to the dresser.

There lying atop the wooden dresser was a silver chained necklace, glittering in the dim lamp light. Wendy ran a finger over the acorn resting on the chain.

"Thimble…" she whispered. Wendy missed Peter. She missed him with so much of her whole soul that words cannot describe the feeling that rushed through her as she took that thimble in her hands. It had been long forgotten in a dresser drawer, waiting for the right moment to come out again and be worn by Wendy.

Without even considering letting it go again, Wendy slipped it around her neck. Peter would come… she could feel it.

* * *

Dawn skirted around the ball room cleaning the floors on her hands and knees. She scrubbed viciously hoping to get the job done as soon as possible. Soap covered the tile and water buckets lay empty and scattered about. Dawn rested for a bit sitting on her knees, as she wiped sweat from her forehead. Suddenly as she peered out into the dark of the night through one of the many grand windows of the ballroom, she spotted something. It was a flicker of glittering light that flashed and disappeared.

"Firefly," Dawn concluded aloud as she continued scrubbing. Suddenly there was a great gust of wind and cold night air brushed on Dawns face. She gasped from the sudden change and stood up, staring wide eyed at the window. The tall window was wide open inviting cool outside air into the vast room.

She turned around only to run right into a figure. Dawn screamed and fell back onto the soapy floor sliding slightly. The figure giggled childishly. Dawn just stared with her mouth wide open at the boy standing before her with his hands setting triumphantly on his hips.

"Hullo," Peter said.

**Did you like it? I don't know if I should continue, so if you would like me to continue please leave a review or PM me from my profile. Thanks! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, here is chapter 2! Hooray! Thanks to my two reviewers who reviewed on the first chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan, but I own Dawn. **

Wendy was perched anxiously in a rocking chair, her legs folded under her as she sat on them, peering out the window in the shadows, hoping, wondering, if one of them was Peter. Her fingers played with the frills on her dress. She wore a blue silk gown not quite formal enough to wear anywhere but the Darling house. None the less, it was much different from the nightgown she had dawned when Peter visited last.

Wendy twiddled with her thimble that hung on a silver chain around her neck. She ran her fingers over the small groove that dented into the acorn where it had deflected an arrow shot at her by one of the lost boys. The Darling girl sighed at the thought of her lost boys. They were all grown and had elegant abodes of their own. Ever since that faithful night that Wendy had chosen to leave Neverland and return to her family, after only a few moments after setting foot in her room again, had wanted ever so much to go again. She couldn't help but wonder if the boys had wanted the same thing; or if they had just forgotten about Neverland altogether. When they had called her "mother," and made it clear in their hearts that they wanted nothing more than to be with Wendy, when she had chosen to go home, they had gone with her.

Of course the lovely Mrs. Darling had accepted the wonderful boys into the house when they came in the window with her beloved Wendy, John, and Michael. Mr. Darling had since bred them in the ways of the respectful, wealthy, working man of London.

They come to the Darling residence every once in a while, bearing their manhood well, and gaining the all important respect as part of the Darling family. Despite this however, Wendy has always seen every one of them hold that certain magical glint in their eyes. However small that little hint the Neverland charm may get in there eyes, it is always there. It lingers behind the grown man's eyes, and if one looks closely, one can see the childish glint of everlasting dream that is Neverland.

Everyone who has been in contact with Peter has this… but none can dawn it more passionately, more wonderfully, than Wendy herself. She has not only been touched by the charm of a certain boy, nor is she just simply a part of the story of Neverland and Peter Pan; she has soaked it in, becoming a part of Neverland itself.

* * *

John sat propped on his bed, his back resting against the headboard, with a book in his hands. His spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose as he peered down through the lenses reading. The candle on a table near him provided just enough light to illuminate that one corner of the room, rendering the other section pitch dark. Slowly he read through the words, one by one, absorbing them. A smile curved over his lips as he fulfilled his secret craving for pirate stories at this late hour in the night. He read on, trying to still his breath, as the suspense and rich action flowed through the pages.

Had the candle next to John, that sat flickering in the dark, not blown out from a sudden gust of air… he may not have heard the scream that echoed faintly down the hall from the ballroom.

* * *

Dawn screeched in a reflex, stumbling backward on the slippery, freshly scrubbed tile of the ballroom. Her hands desperately searched for a grip, only finding a soapy path across the floor. The dark haired maid heard her scream echo through the massive Darling house carrying on through the halls.

She stumbled to her feet hoping that somehow she would have the balance to stay up despite her shaking knees. She kept her fearful gaze trained on the boyish figure standing curiously in front of her in the dim light. Dawn ran through all of the possibilities in her mind of what she could do. By some miraculous train of thought, she chose the most rash of them all.

* * *

John sat up straight, a chill shooting through him. Tossing his book to the floor, he dashed out of the room, his feet pounding on the wooden hall floors. The hall was pitch dark, not a single light to guild him. Air brushed past his face as he flew through that hall, and as he ran, he wondered what on earth would cause a woman to scream like that.

John knew Dawn well, but had never heard her scream. Yet, he knew instantly that it was her. The darkness seemed never ending as John ran taking in sharp breaths, heading straight for the ballroom. Finally he reached the two large doors, pressed his palms against them, and flung them open.

Peering around, squinting in the darkness, John spotted the two figures. Two flickering lamps hung lonely on each wall, casting a dim gold color to the vast room. John saw Dawn shaking presumably with pure fear, poised in a defensive stance, her arm outstretched toward a male figure, holding a knife.

John's gaze settled on the figure. The boy stood, his arm also outstretched, toward Dawn. He held a dagger ready to strike. John's entire frame froze in a temporary shock as he recognized the boyish figure. A wide grin spread across his face, and a childish glint shined brighter than ever in his eyes.

"Peter." He realized aloud. Peter flicked his head toward John, his tousled and windblown hair shifting. He smiled mischievously.

"John!" Dawn gasped in relief. Her frame shook as she watched Peter's dagger glint in the dim lamp light.

"Dawn… put down your knife," John commanded.

"But-" she started to protest.

"Put it down." He said again interrupting her. "Trust me," he said. Dawn hesitated, but nodded slowly. She uncurled her sweating fingers from the handle and let it drop to the tile floor. It clanged loudly, bouncing against the wet floor.

Peter did not flinch a bit. He soon had his eyes straight on Dawn again, as she cringed in fear, realizing again, the threat that his dagger posed.

"Peter, please put away your weapon. There is no need for it." John suggested. Peter shook his head.

"She threatened me. She moved first." Peter explained.

"Dawn is not going to hurt you. You must have startled her." John offered. Peter looked Dawn straight in her hazel eyes, watching her carefully. Her dark hair fell in pieces from her bun and beads of nervous sweat trailed down her face.

"Dawn… so that your name, girl?" he asked curiously, cocking his head. Dawn, still trembling, nodded slowly. Peter smiled and sheathed his dagger.

"I am Peter Pan." He said bowing courteously. John walked across the ballroom to Dawn. He put a hand on her shoulder. Dawn stiffened then relaxed slowly, blushing as she eyed his hand on her shoulder.

"John…"Peter suddenly said. "You… you've grown." He commented, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"Yes… and quite taller than you I might add." John replied smiling. He walked over to Peter and stood next to him looking down. Peter crossed his arms defiantly and made a "pfft" sound. He glanced up at John.

"That is true... but I can still spit the farthest. Therefore, I am always the leader." Peter quickly made up.

"Of course," John replied, seeing no sense in arguing with the stubborn boy. Dawn watched curiously at the two, wondering what in the world was going on. It was strange really, to see a boy come in through the window, and then strike up a casual conversation with a young man in his night clothes.

* * *

Wendy's eyes fluttered open, and she quickly realized that she had dozed off. It was a dreamless doze of course without thoughts of Neverland to fill her mind. Peter was the first thing that entered Wendy's mind as she shook herself awake. She glanced toward the nursery door sensing something. Squinting through the dim light, she felt it. That rush. That wave of pure exhilaration that surged through her body whenever he was near.

"Peter," Wendy concluded aloud. This time she knew that he was here.

Racing down the hall, Wendy stopped and skidded slightly on the wooden floors. In the darkness she placed her palms on the wall searching for a door. Wendy flinched as she made contact with the cool knob. Slowly and carefully she turned it, peering into the unlit room searching for her brother.

"Michael! Michael!" She whispered anxiously. Wendy heard him stir in his bed. A candle flickered to life as he lit it. His dazed face peered sleepily at Wendy in the doorway.

"Wendy? What is it?" he whispered softly.

"Peter…" Wendy whispered. Michael's expression lit up with sheer joy. The now eleven year old sat straight up and smiled widely. Without hesitation he grabbed the candle and zipped to where Wendy was standing at the threshold of his door.

"Where? In the nursery? He came in the window again?" Michael tossed questions carelessly at Wendy as he jumped for joy. Suddenly, just as soon as it came, Michael's jubilant expression disappeared. "He couldn't be here Wendy… the nursery window has been locked ever since father added to the house." He said, thinking aloud.

Soon enough Wendy's smile faded as well as she realized what he meant. "He must think we have forgotten about him…" she muttered sadly. The nursery window has indeed been locked tight since additions to the Darling residence were made. The window that was always open to welcome that boy, had been shut many years, and only now did they realize it. Wendy's heart sank, and she felt so much like crying. If only she were a little child again like Michael. She could cry then… but now, as a near adult she couldn't.

"Don't cry Wendy." Michael murmured patting his sister's hand. Wendy hadn't realized that the tears had come at their own will. Suddenly, Michael's gazed shot down the hall.

"What is it Michael?" Wendy asked following his eyes.

"I was sure that I heard a crash." He replied squinting down the dark hall. Michael scooted around Wendy, slipping into the hall. He burst into a run and took off.

* * *

The vase shattered as it collided with the floor in the ballroom, sending an echo through the walls. Peter laughed giddily. "A bit clumsy are we John?" he teased. John looked down at the broken pieces from the air.

Yes, it had already begun. Dawn watched with disbelief etched in her features as she gazed at John fly. "J-John…" she choked out. "How in bloody h-" she started. Dawn quickly covered her mouth in a reflex knowing that a proper maid such as her should not engage in such distasteful language.

"Pixie dust of course!" Peter exclaimed. He zoomed over to Dawn and sat cross-legged in the air near her. Dawn jumped back alarmed. Peter lowered to the ground and extended a hand to her. "My lady," he said charming her. A strange feeling possessed Dawn as she reached out and took Peter's hand. She felt weightless and free, her senses capturing every wonderful feeling of the golden dust that trickled down on her from above. Her hand tingled slightly, sending warmth throughout her body. She never took her eyes off of the mysterious and mischievous boy that just smiled as she stared.

Suddenly, Peter let go. Dawn felt his hand slip effortlessly out of hers and she gasped. She stared in terror down at the floor below her; she was a floating at a dizzying height just near the ballroom ceiling. She began to descend at a faster rate than she would have liked, nearing closer and closer to the hard tile floors. A picture of her crashing into the ground slipped into her mind, causing her to descend even quicker. Dawn shut her eyes, readying for impact.

She cringed reflexively as she landed. She landed not on the hard ground, but instead in someone's arms. Her eyes remained closed tight. "I'm dead. I'm dead." She murmured. Dawn was sure that she had died, and had no way of knowing that someone had caught her at the last moment.

"No, not dead. In fact, very much alive. Although you do look quite pale…" a voice answered. Dawn's eyes fluttered open.

"John…" she gasped. A blush flushed over Dawn's face as she looked up at John's eyes. She silently hoped that he couldn't see her red face in the dim light. John's arms were wrapped tight around Dawn's frame, holding her bridal style.

"You look fine now. I caught you just in time. I do hope that Peter didn't frighten you much. He forgot to tell you to think happy thoughts." John said smiling. Just at that moment Wendy and Michael burst through the doors of the ballroom.

**So... how do ya like it so far? Please please review! Thanks. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Here you are! Chapter 3 is here. Hope you enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter, Wendy, John, or Michael...(sniffs)**

Wendy's breath stopped for a moment as she focused her gaze up near the ballroom ceiling toward the boy she had longed to see. That feeling, the wave of exhilaration that came over her when he was near, seized her entire body. That familiar feeling of butterflies came rushing in threatening to make her squeal in shear happiness. Her feet glided swiftly across the tile floor, her long blue nightgown flowing as she ran to him.

"Peter!" she screamed in joy. Peter smirked at her and descended slowly, his arms crossed against his chest. The butterflies rose into Wendy's chest as she was once again taken over by Peter's charm. His expression was that of a little boy receiving a gift on Christmas.

"Wendy…" he muttered happily. Peter's bare feet touched to the cold tile floor, and just at that moment Wendy rushed into an embrace. She wrapped her arms around him and stifled a sob of joy. Long gone were the thoughts and rules of being a proper lady. A shocked Peter stumbled back and smiled awkwardly. "Wow, Wendy that's a strong hug!" Peter laughed childishly.

Wendy pulled away and blushed. "Sorry…" she apologized smiling curtly. She stared over his features and smiled. He hadn't changed a bit. Of course he wouldn't he was Peter Pan. He was forever a child. A wide and toothy smile graced Peter's face as he laughed. Suddenly, just as soon as it came, Peter's expression faltered and faded. His smile now resembled a tiny frowning pout.

"Wendy…" he said looking up at her. "You…you've grown," he commented, repeating what he had said to John. This was just what Wendy had feared. The butterflies and giddiness all disappeared along with Peter's smile. Wendy frowned as well and now a sudden feeling of guilt came over her. She just nodded resentfully.

"Oh…" she whispered. Her gazed flickered down toward her womanly frame. She did look different. There was no doubt about it; she was dangerously close to becoming a full fledged woman. Age was flirting with her. She stared down at her blue silk gown and fiddled with her necklace.

"Wendy?" Peter asked scooting near her. Wendy focused her gaze at Peter. "My lady," he whispered outstretching his hand. The Darling girl's mind was suddenly striped of all thoughts as memories of Neverland pulsed through her.

At the moment her fingers touched Peter's hand, a surge of warmth filled her and suddenly there was nothing else in the world. There was only Peter. She could smell the sweet summer blooms of the forest, the salty damp wood, and the smoky flames of the cooking fires. Wendy's senses filled with the delight of being weightless in the air with Peter. Air was an entire new medium when one was covered from head to toe in the glittering powder know as Pixie Dust.

Nearby Dawn, John, and Michael smiled at the scene before them. They all stood in the darkness of the ballroom, soaking in the feeling that was like no other. Now, seeing Peter and Wendy together again, was like watching how effortlessly the clouds glided together. They were inseparable. That childish glint of Neverland was now imbedded in each of their eyes, shining, thriving on the presence of one boy. On this day, Dawn would be forever enchanted with that glint. It will always be there, shimmering in her gaze even in the oldest of ages.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Of all the clanging and clattering that had gone on that night, it was Wendy's squeal of delight that woke Mr. Darling. He grunted, waking slowly and snorting loudly at the sound, thus waking Mrs. Darling.

"I say! My dear, did you hear that?" he asked, alarmed. Mrs. Darling, feeling a smidgen less elegant than usual in her tired state, stood up from the bed and adjusted her flowing nightgown.

"Frankly my Darling, I only caught your snorting. It was quite loud." She responded smoothly. She gazed down at her husband as he rubbed his tired eyes in the dark of the room. Fishing through a drawer, she retrieved a candle.

Mr. Darling saw it flicker to life as she lit it, illuminating a small portion of the grand master bedroom. He watched as his wife's exquisite figure cast a thin silhouette on the wall, shadows enveloping the room, as she flitted about straightening the sheets on her side of the bed.

"I was sure I heard something…" Mr. Darling whispered aloud, pondering on the fact. "I think I should make certain that everything is fine," he announced after only seconds of thinking on it. He maneuvered out from under the sheets and adjusted his night clothes. He squinted through the dark room staring out into the black hall. As if cued, Mrs. Darling handed her husband another lit candle, smiling at him.

"Do be careful darling. I believe Dawn has cleaned many of the floors. They might still be damp." She warned. Mr. Darling gave his wife a swift nod and headed out into the hall with his candle.

His feet slapped the wooden floor as he hurried to Wendy's room. He walked swiftly hoping to have a bit more sleep after this little late night adventure. Mr. Darling came to the threshold of her door and peeked in. He blinked making certain that what he was seeing was really true.

Her room was empty. He checked the nursery. Suddenly he wondered why on earth Wendy would be in the nursery. As if out of instinct, Mr. Darling ran to the window.

"Still locked…" he whispered. Memories of that faithful night came back to his conscious as he focused on the window. That one moment when he had discovered that Wendy, John, and Michael had disappeared into the cool night. He remembered the window being wide open, cold air rushing through the curtains, as Nana barked fiercely. Recalling the feeling that had come over him, Mr. Darling recognized that rush; the panic, that indescribable feeling that was only present in the Darling house when a certain boy was there. His fists clenched and sweat broke from his hairline. At that moment he thought that they might all ready be gone..

Without hesitation Mr. Darling flew out of the room in a rather rapid manner for a man of his age. He sprinted past the doors and the lamps in the hall heading toward the source of his feeling. He knew the charm and the strange power that the boy had over the Darling house. Mr. Darling knew that his children's gaze had contained that signature glint that Neverland bestowed on them. He could only hope that his dear Wendy might just be grown up enough to weaken the glint. He could only hope that Peter might reject her. Poor Mr. Darling couldn't have known how wrong he was.

Mrs. Darling watched as he husband's figure zipped past the bedroom door. Immediately, she felt it. That same intense rush that she had felt the night her Wendy had flown away. Gripping her candle, Mrs. Darling ran after her husband.

The ballroom doors slammed open causing a great bang. Both Mr. and Mrs. Darling's eyes scanned the entire room searching desperately. Mr. Darling's gaze caught on a blue silk night gown, gliding out of the center ballroom window. His breath caught as he tried to yell her name. He stopped and froze completely as his eyes met with Peter's. The childish figure smiled and waved.

Peter and Wendy flew out of the window and faded into the dark. Dawn clung onto John as they followed, tailed by Michael. Once again Mr. and Mrs. Darling watched as their children disappeared into the night. Strangely a small but significant feeling of relief came upon them, as they stared into the blackness outside of the ballroom window.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dawn closed her eyes tight and clung onto John's night shirt for dear life. She rode steadily on his back digging her fingers into his shirt. Dawn had hesitated at the window just before they had taken to the air, and John had asked her to jump on his back. After wondering what on earth would make John act so… so lively and improper, Dawn had just given in. John had scooped her up and carried her on his back, like one would a little child.

"J-John?" she asked not budging an inch. John laughed as he flew carelessly through the cold night air above London.

"What is it, Dawn?" he asked dreamily.

"W-What in the bloody h-uh- I mean… what on earth are we doing?" Dawn responded quivering as she dared not peer down at the streets below.

"Well… I do believe we are flying. Please Dawn, do try and be less nervous. I've got you. Don't forget to think a happy thought." John said. Dawn's hazel eyes flickered open and she drew in a shaky breath. She gasped at the wonderful sight below.

The London streets laid out on the land, the stones glinting like silver ribbon in the moonlight. Lampposts flickered dim orange, casting long thin shadows of the gray buildings beside them. The roofs of the houses varied in stature; some pointed like spires and others were a collage of pyramid triangles pointing to the sky. The grassy green gardens that lingered near many of the wealthier residences lay colored glossy by the dim moon and the dew. The clouds above the flying children were cast a silvery gray and the stars winked welcoming them to the sky.

"Lovely isn't it?" John asked, breaking Dawn of her trance. Dawn just nodded gazing down at the town, feeling weightless and giddy. "You're doing fantastic Dawn! I'm not even holding you 

anymore." John commented. Dawn suddenly focused her gaze toward John flying alone. She let out a gasp and shut her eyes again. She began to descend once again losing sight of her happy thoughts.

"Whoa there, girl!" someone said. Dawn felt her body jerk as she stopped falling in mid air. She dared to look, and was met with Peter's smiling face. He was clinging onto her arm holding her steady in the air. "Don't worry you'll get the hang of it! You know, you're just like Wendy. She used to fall sometimes," Peter laughed flashing a glance at Wendy who was now beside John and Michael.

Wendy suddenly gasped girlishly. "Dawn! I had hardly noticed that you had come along. I apologize I was so distracted with Peter…" she apologized.

"No problem Ms. Dar-uh- Wendy!" Dawn smiled feeling free of the restrictions of being a maid. Thoughts of being a maid and proper were long left behind at the Darling house. The five all flew into the night air, kissing the bottoms of the lingering clouds.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Neverland was waiting, hold up in a winter season awaiting Peter's arrival that would bring the spring. Ice crystals hung heavy and thick on the masts of the ship in the freezing ocean waters. The tropical trees stood dormant on the shore, barely rustling in the cool winds that blew from the gray clouds lingering in the sky, diming the Neverland sun. As the midnight bell struck in London, the midday lunch bell was struck in Neverland aboard the "Vixen's Revenge" anchored just off shore.

The worn ship had been through many a battle. The black letters that spelt the name of the ship were faded and the "v" was chipped. Barnacles thrived on the under section of the hull, clinging tightly. The deck was sheeted with ice, while icicles suspended from the masts, the rough sails pulled in.

The cabin door creaked open sending crystalline water soaring from its hinges. Shining black leather boots dug into the ice covering the deck as they trudged across. The person in those boots was none other than Captain Rosaline Scarcosta herself. Her dark blood red pants hugged tightly to her thin legs, as did her white blouse to her upper curves. She wore a night black coat flawless in appearance, reaching down to her knees, matching her leather boots. The captain's sea colored eyes darted around deck surveying the area. She shook snowflakes out of her black hair, sighed annoyingly at the unfavorable weather.

"That stupid mongrel…" she growled under her breath. "Ryan! I told you to load the starboard cannons." She shouted directing her annoyance at a pathetic looking pirate.

"Yes, Captain!" the blond boy responded. He ran his fingers through his tousled hair nervously.

"Starboard means the right side of the ship you idiot!" Rosaline spat through her teeth. Ryan suddenly perked up realizing the terrible mood his captain was in.

"Yes Captain! Right away Captain! Sorry Captain!" he said quickly rushing to the other side of the ship. Ryan slid on the ice and barely regained balance in time. Rosaline just stood there on her deck wondering why on earth she had saved the boy from the Indians.

"Cannons ready Captain!" a pirate announced.

"Lovely. Now, Markus! Aim for the Northwest twenty two degrees to the right and up! Right there! That spot there in the sky… aim for that worthless little town, straight for where Pan is. Aim for London," the Captain commanded, smirking wickedly.

**Did you like this chapter? I was a little nervous about introducing a female captain and new pirate ship, but in this version Hook did perish in the crocodile and Peter took his ship soo... I had to come up with something. You might be thinking what on earth is Captain Scarcosta doing aiming a cannon ball for the sky?! Well... you will see! Please review. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Here it is! Chapter 4. I really hope you enjoy it. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan or any other characters from the book, but I do own Captain Scarcosta, Dawn, and the other new pirates mentioned. **

Dawn slipped her fingers through the knots steadying her finely laced maid's apron to her hips. She pulled, setting the knots loose and whipping the bundle of cotton from the front of her black maid dress, in one quick motion. She stood in the gray shadows of the night, on the top of a mansion roof gazing down upon the marvelous views. Dawn threw her apron into the night and watched it flutter down to the street. All was quiet in London as it rested, covered by night and dim starry sky. Undisturbed were the midnight dews on the grasses and quiet were the cobblestone streets.

"Peter… do you come to London often? I mean, what made you decide to come tonight?" Dawn inquired, glancing to her right at the magical boy. Peter's eyes flickered to her and then back at the rooftops nearby. He stood with his hands on his hips, with a serious expression on his face as if he was pondering deeply about her question. He suddenly smiled and turned to Dawn.

"Tonight? Well… I have always come often. I came everyday for a while, but every time I came to the Wendy's house men were everywhere working on it day and night. I couldn't ever get in." Peter explained looking slightly saddened by this fact. Wendy smiled thinking fondly of the way Peter had called the Darling residence "Wendy's house," as if she was the mother again. She suddenly looked at Peter with an expression that resembled shame. She stepped closer to him, carefully, not wanting to lose balance on the roof. Everyone floated slightly not putting their full weight on the mansion's roof since there was no completely flat surface for them to stand on.

"Oh, Peter, you came every day?" Wendy asked her voice shaken. She realized at that moment how many chances she had to fly away with him. She waited so long, dreaming each day of Neverland. It captured all her thoughts and played in her dreams, teasing her, waiting for the time when Peter would once again glide through the nursery window. Peter nodded in response.

"Of course! Neverland isn't really fun without you." He commented smiling a toothy grin.

A blush crept over Wendy's cheeks, and colored her face in the pale moonlight. "Oh… why thank you Peter." She said. John suddenly perked up as if realizing something. In truth he had been off in thought as he stared down at the London streets thinking of the thrilling pirate adventures he had been burying his nose into, reading diligently until Dawn screamed.

"Hook…" he whispered. Peter crinkled his nose in disgust. He made a "pfft" sound through his lips and his eyebrows furrowed. The boy crossed his arms.

"What about that ole codfish?" Peter scoffed.

"He is dead right? I mean, he did perish in the crocodile didn't he?" John asked adjusting his spectacles.

"Of course he did. Neverland does not speak of that old man anymore. He was a dirty scallywag. Not even the other pirates speak of him. He is the most hated man that ever was, that Hook." Peter explained his arm still crossed in a defiant manner.

"The… the other pirates?" John asked, his expression suddenly brightened. Dawn gazed at the Darling boy's eager features in curiosity. She began to wonder what it was that made Neverland so fantastic. Was it the pirates? Dawn pondered over this, envisioning a filthy scurvy ridden pirate pacing the decks and screaming orders at the crew. Her eyes suddenly lit up as she thought. It was strange really. There was just something about all this talk of pirates, no matter how filthy they might sound, that sent a pulse of adrenaline through Dawn's frame.

"Yes. There are at least three ships… well maybe two now. I would bet that Captain Scarcosta has already been rid of the 'Feather Phantom, and its captain." Peter suggested.

"Pirates..." Dawn whispered under her breath, thinking aloud. All attention suddenly turned to the dark haired maid as she stared off into thought peering at the London skies.

"I think you will quite enjoy the pirates. Why, the way you pulled that knife on Peter was fantastically brave for a girl. Wendy never fought the pirates, Peter always protected her. You though… well I must say Dawn, Peter must teach you to fight!" John said excitedly turning to her. Dawn suddenly snapped from her thoughts and took a second to comprehend what John had said. She just nodded afraid that any attempt to speak would result in a jubilant scream.

"Who is Captain Hook?" she suddenly asked curious as to what everyone had been conversing about. A wide smile spread over all of the Darling children faces as they remembered their adventures.

"He was fierce." John replied.

"Dangerous," Wendy added.

"Conniving," Michael spoke up.

"He was the most feared captain in all the seas." Peter half whispered for dramatic effect. Wendy went on to explain their encounters with the vicious Hook in her story telling talent. She spoke of Peter cutting Hook's hand off thus causing Hook to gain his feared name and look. Wendy told of the crocodile with the clock and how it longed endlessly for Hook's taste. With the help of Peter, who made the clocks ticking noises with impeccable accuracy, the story came alive in Dawn's mind. The events were told in such detail and with such fluency, that even the most stubborn of high society would believe in pixie dust, pirates, mermaids, and Indians. Wendy and Peter finished the tale with the lines the Lost Boys had used to describe the event.

"Thus perished Hook. Old, alone, and done for in the belly of a croc." They had said. Everyone watched the expression on Dawn's face as the information suddenly hit her. It was so against everything that she had been exposed to that she was in pure shock. Her mind broke all connections to maid service, dining, serving, cleaning, and acceptable high society methods. She felt at that moment the thrill of standing so near to Peter and just the pure childish dream that came along with him. Dawn came to a point at which she couldn't believe that this was all real. There had always been that feeling in the Darling house. That certain tweak of mystical mischievousness that lined the walls. The drawers in the nursery were always filled with that golden, glittering dust. The shadows always seemed to play in the night when no one was looking. Everything that had always been hidden away as a little fairytale in the Darling house was suddenly utterly and completely real. Dawn suddenly got the feeling that she was always meant to experience this. It was a feeling she had received ever since she walking into the Darling's door for the first time. She had been touched by a certain magic of a certain boy, and there was no turning back.

"Dawn?" John asked urgently as he watched her expression carefully. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yes I'm fine. I just… It's all so-"she started but stopped abruptly as she was interrupted by a muffled crash in the distance. The house roof everyone was balancing on shook slightly.

"I say! Did everyone feel that?" Michael asked shocked. Wendy nodded and Peter stared curiously into the dim night searching for the source.

"W-What was that?" Dawn asked shaken. She stared nervously as lamps flickered on in buildings around them one by one. The once dark silver streets were now glowing with a yellow tint from the light. Heads peeked out of windows gazing in the direction of the disturbance.

Another crash was heard this one closer. A deafening bang shuttered close by, shaking the houses violently. Michael covered his ears and trembled. Peter, Dawn, Wendy, John, and Michael all hovered in the cool night air now, shaken off the roof.

Boom. Another crash. Suddenly there was a shadow of black descending rapidly down from the sky. It pierced the clouds, and collided with the thankfully clear street below, sending stones soaring into the air. 

The ground shook and dust filled the air, blackening everything. Dawn trembled as she floated straining to retain her happy though to stay suspended. She urgently glanced around squinting through the black dust desperately searching for anyone.

"Peter! John!" she screamed feeling as if her voice would be lost in the thick panic. "Michael! Wendy!" she called again, hearing no response. Dawn strained to hear anything. Now there was mass shock and panic in London. People screamed afraid of what had happened. She could hear rapid footsteps treading on the stone streets.

"Dawn!" someone called, their voice muffled in the dark. Dawn tried with all her balance to fly toward the voice. She shut her eyes as she traveled through the dust. Suddenly she ran into a figure and stumbled back through the air. A familiar grasp caught her wrist steadying her.

"Peter!" she gasped thankfully. Dawn still felt uneasy however. She wasn't exactly bonded with Peter yet. The code of old Neverland and the Lost Boys was sacred. It held a certain unspoken feeling that seeped ever so quietly into the unconscious of Peter's gang. One that has been in contact with Peter can never argue that they have never seen or been told of the code, for it is embedded in their mind. Even the Lost Boys today in sitting quietly in their leather chairs sorting credits and calendars, will always know the code. Peter was after all the leader, and he ultimately decided who would be in his gang. Peter sensing Dawn's nervousness answered he unspoken question, reading her reactions expertly.

"Come on we have to find Wendy and the others. Hold onto my wrist. I won't let you go; you're part of our team now, Dawn." Peter announced. Dawn immediately wrapped her fingers around Peter's wrist in a tight grip, as he pulled her through the night.

* * *

The Neverland seas were peaceful, ruffled a bit though by the thrust of the "Vixen's Revenge" as it buckled slightly from its cannon's blasts. Icicles were shaken off the great masts as another cannon ball was launched into the clouds, disappearing completely. The Captain watched as another one of her idiot crew members loaded yet another cannon, stuffing the black gun powder into the hole.

"Eh, you idiots! More pixie dust in that gun powder! How in blazes do you expect the cannon balls to make it all the way to bloody London without more pixie dust?!" Rosaline shouted stomping her black boot into the ice that covered the deck. She huffed in aggravation, her breath forming a small cloud in the frigid air as she breathed.

"Sorry… them fairies we caught are runnin out." A pirate explained.

"Well then catch some more," Captain Scarcosta snarled through her teeth.

"Y-Yes Captain!" the man responded nodding vigorously.

"Look at it this way boys… the sooner Pan is gone, the sooner we can take down the Indians and dominate the western island!" the Captain announced. The pirate crew just grunted in response. Scarcosta sighed.

"That means I will get more rum for all of you." She added. A cheer broke out from the men and they picked up the pace, dreaming of their savored rum. "Mongrels…" the captain whispered under her breath. Captain Scarcosta had not always disliked her crew, nor had she always been in a quite distasteful mood for the most part. Yes, there once was a time when the female pirate was happy to an extent. She had once been head over heels in love.

Now, before judgment can be made upon the woman, one must consider that she had denied her feelings just like any other self respecting pirate would do. There is, like the Lost Boy's code, a code among the pirates. Unwritten it may be, but it is handled with great care. Pirates in general, particularly pirate captains, must not ever under any circumstances love anyone. To the society of rum-based morals, love is a sign of weakness. It is a sure signal that a pirate is soft.

Captain Rosaline Scarcosta was bred in the ways of high society piracy, miles off the Neverland coast in the waters no one dared to go. Much is unknown of this portion of the Neverland star, but it does in fact exist. Rosaline was the daughter of a sophisticated pirate captain commonly known as Captain Blaze Scarcosta. There were many a ships in the Neverland ocean that traded with each other and bred all kinds of pirate captains that would one day fight for the Neverland islands. Hook, when he dominated the oceans, was most feared among these ships. He would travel deep into the waters, miles away from the islands and repair his ship, stock on rum, and often take out one of his competition. Rosaline was young then. You see if one was far enough away from Peter Pan and his touch of magic, then you would grow older. On the island no one grew old, but in the deep waters, they did. This was part of the reason that no one ventured far from the island. The Scarcosta ship, known as "Fire's Blaze" then, was partners with the "Kimorak Parrot" owned by Captain Dacod Kimorak and his son John. John and Rosaline were fond of each other, but never showed it. As they got older, they would sneak aboard a lifeboat and row to the islands to be together. They camped in caves until morning and would return by late afternoon when most pirates would just begin to rise. However this did not last. By some cause still unknown to Rosaline, Hook was the one to find out, thus creating quite a dilemma. The result was one that Rosaline regrets to recall.

**Oooh. Some of Captain Scarcosta's past. I felt that the information was a bit... uhh... well, pushed out there a bit fast. Hopefully though it didn't bore you for me to explain some of her past, I just needed to get it out there. What is going to happen to London with pirates stooting cannon balls at it?! Oh dear... Anyway how did you guys like this chapter? Please review with your thoughts. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello again! Here is chapter 5. I do hope you enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan or anything related to the original characters from the book. **

_Rosaline peered nervously through a silver spy glass, watching the many ships miles off of the shore of Neverland sway lazily in the night. "They haven't noticed we've gone. No one should awake for more than a few hours." She stated, her nervousness shifting to glee as she smiled. A strong hand settled lightly on her shoulder as she slipped the spy glass into her coat pocket. The hand slid down her arm and another brushed through her hair. She felt his warm breath on her neck and his lips touch it ever so slightly teasing her._

_"Come on Rose, can we set up in our cave? You seem tense tonight." A voice teased._

_"Oh alright, John." Rosaline answered. She looked right into his lovely dark eyes and the wisps of his curly brown locks. John Kimorak slipped his arm around Rosaline's thin waist and the two walked forward into the Neverland forest. Just at the edge of the trees, they were met with something, or rather someone._

_His gleaming hook shined even in the dim of the night. Captain hook ran a hand through his coarse black beard, and smiled wickedly. "Well who do we have here? Mr. Kimorak and Ms. Scarcosta eh?" he questioned._

_Rosaline froze halting suddenly in her tracks. A snarling frown covered her features as she instinctively drew her pistol. She pointed the barrel's center straight for the dreadful pirate, her hand faltering just slightly. John just stood there his arms crossed against his chest, relaxed._

_"Hello there Captain Hook." He greeted slyly. A grimy grin spread wide across Hook's face._

_"All right ya love birds. It's over now. You two are disgraces! Never have I seen such a weakness." He spat. John placed a hand on Rosaline's shoulder._

_"Let me." He offered. At that very moment the two men drew their swords…_

Rosaline awoke with a gasp, and tears in her eyes. She looked about the blackness of her cabin and let out a sigh. "That bloody Hook!" she murmured. Thinking of Pan, Rosaline returned to the deck and screamed more orders at the crew concerning the cannonballs.

* * *

Wendy whipped her gaze in all directions, twisting and turning, contorting in the sky, searching for her dear Peter. Another deafening blast rang through the thick air. It cracked violently like thunder, in a world that seemed upside down, as the bangs rang from below. Screams of fright and shear panic scattered, muffled in the black dust that loomed in the once peaceful London skies. "Peter!" the frightened Darling girl screeched. Wendy's hand flew to her neck as she fiddled violently with the acorn that hung their on her golden chain. She drew in a shaky breath, only to cough vigorously after inhaling a cloud of thick black dust. Her throat tingled slightly with a warm feeling and yet slowly the burning sensation of gun powder filled it, replacing the warmth with a sudden blaze.

"Gun powder?" Wendy whispered to herself. Her gaze fixed now on the dust that lingered in the air, staring into blackness and watching each particle float. Common sense came over her. Gun powder did not suspend in air. She stared closer squinting until she spotted it. "Pixie dust!" she exclaimed, her outburst lost in the noises and sounds of panic around her. The glittering gold substance was hardly noticeable among the dense black clouds. The mix of the two floated, encircling the skies above the tall London spires.

* * *

John Darling descended slowly, his feet out stretched to catch upon the ground when he touched it. His eyes were shut tight, and he held his breath desperately waiting to come down from the black dust that surrounded the skies. Cold air brushed his skin as the air became soft again near the cobblestoned streets. His bare feet came in contact with the icy ground and his breath expelled in a large gasp.

John stood stiff on the street opening his eyes ever so carefully. Screams of terror, agony, and the continuous booms reached his ears over and over again, as the panic set in. John opened his eyes and stared, his mouth agape at the scene before him. Ruins of the stone streets lay scattered upon the ground. Buildings that were once houses sat in heaps of spit wood, granite, and tiles. People sprinted to nowhere rushing desperately with all their might just to get away. The entire city stood in chaos, colored a dim gray by the night.

A woman ran screaming, her arms flailing toward John, warning him. "They fall from the sky! They've ruined everything! Run! Run!" she screeched a frightened and strained tone lining her voice. The woman halted when she reached John and crouched over, her hands on her knees for support breathing in deep gasps of air. Suddenly she stood straight up clinging a hand onto John's collared night shirt. "What are you doing boy?! Don't just stand there run! They'll hit you!" she cried urgently. John said nothing and stared into the woman's eyes, feeling as if he would be thrown back by the urgency that suddenly came to the moment. The woman's eyes held shear fear and concern. Her battered arms and legs were colored blue and black and covered in scratches and bruises. Glistening sweat rolled from her hairline, as her concerned gaze focused on John.

She released her grip on his shirt and stepped back, taking one last glance at him before breaking into a hurried dash. John could only watch as she ran, her night gown billowing in the wind, and he could only stand there as she screamed again warning all in her path of the things that fall from the sky.

Shock settled into his features as he saw the chaos slowly enveloping London, increasing with every new bang that rang in the distance. Just then an enormous crash sounded behind him. Wood crackled and snapped with a sickening sound, rubble scattered and rained down onto the streets crumbling as it collided with the ground. John instinctively ducked for cover, dropping in one swift motion to the ground, covering his head with his arms.

For a moment his mind wandered fondly to Neverland. Images of pirates, Indians, mermaids, and the breathtaking fantasy of the island itself flew through his mind. He recalled the glint of sunlight on his sword blade as he lunged forward in attack. He saw the dazzling skies above Neverland and cannonballs billowing through the soft clouds coming right for him, as he gleefully zipped through the air to dodge it just in time. A sense of exhilarating courage swept through him. John Darling had braved Indians, cannonballs, and pirates no less! This was no different. He would show the bravely, carelessness, and skill he had shown when the very magic of Peter Pan pulsed through him.

"Wendy… Michael… Peter… Dawn," he whispered. They were all in danger. The Darling boy stood and launched up into the air, disappearing into the dark clouds above.

* * *

Dawn clung tight to Peter as he pulled her swiftly through the blackness. Thick, heavy air surged past them as they flew, pulling on Dawn, willing her to fall. "Dawn, you've got to stay up. I won't be able to hold you and Wendy once we find her." Peter spoke up in a command, a sense of worry lining his voice. Concern for Wendy filled his mind, as he wandered quickly through the blackness.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I just-"Dawn started to reply, but was cut off by Peter's aggravated groan. Pan had not been listening to a single word that might have reached his ears, his mind busy.

"Scarcosta!" he spat angrily.

"Peter!" someone cried. The cry was muffled in the distance as a woman's voice screamed out the name. Peter halted abruptly in midair, his eyes flickering from one side to another. Dawn watched him carefully. She felt his grip loosen on her wrist as he became thoroughly distracted by the voice calling his name.

"Ummm… Peter, don't let me go… I don't think I can-"Dawn's words were suddenly cut off as she screeched seeing Peter's hand leave hers. The strange boy thrust forward into a fast flight disappearing from sight. Dawn silently panicked inside, another scream slowly traveling to her throat. She was alone in a dark void with no flying boy. Dawn felt a cold sweat dip down her face as she realized how horrible this situation was. She began to descend quickly gaining speed as she fell toward the earth below, struggling to conjure up a happy thought. So many thoughts filled her mind as she fell through the thick, hot air, and unfortunately none of them being happy at all. She shut her eyes and pictured John catching her just in time, just as he had done when she nearly crashed to the ballroom floor.

"John. Catch me. Catch me." She murmured hopelessly trying to comfort her own mind. The picture of John's eyes flashed through her mind, as she had seen them when she looked up at him as he caught her. Dawn remembered the blush that crept over her face when his arms were wrapped tightly around her frame, and when he smiled down at her.

A soft laugh broke her of her thoughts. "Dawn, I don't need to catch you. You're flying all on your own." He said. Dawn's hazel eyes flew open and were met with the very smile she that had just lingered in her mind.

"John! You're alright!" she cried happily. Stumbling in the air, she attempted, quite pitifully, to lean toward him. Indeed flying did not come so natural to Dawn. The teachings of balance as a maid had no effect in this new medium. Suddenly she stopped and stared at John quizzically, a slight look of fear crossing her eyes. "Oh... you're hurt." She stated her voice wavering in concern. Dawn extended her arm toward him and gently touched his shoulder just below where his night shirt sleeve reached the seam. Dawn drew her hand back and examined the blood that had come from the gash. John suddenly winced, noticing the blood than ran down his arm.

"Cannonballs. That's what is causing all of this. I was on the ground and one hit the building behind me." He explained, his tone suddenly becoming serious.

"Cannonballs…" she wondered aloud. The dark haired girl pondered on this, her mind contemplating in terms of magic. "Pirates…" she whispered. The word tickled her senses as she felt the pure exhilaration of the adventurous thoughts that came with the word. There in the grey of the night among the clouds, as that word was spoken, cannonballs ceased to tumble through the skies of London. The violent eruptions halted, as did the screams, and the moon shone through the thinning black dust.

* * *

"Blithering idiots!" Rosaline cursed under her breath. Her words stood in vain though. For every curse that the female captain spat it seemed that her crew only grew more inferior. There was no measure of time in Neverland; only the day and the night. However Rosaline knew it must have been hours since the final pixie dust induced cannon ball had been fired toward London.

The dark haired pirate glanced at the sky. The thin cold of the air was swiftly becoming thick with the familiar island warmth that could only be carried by Peter himself. "They're coming. They're coming soon." She said to herself in a whisper.

**Hmm... so Peter is returning soon. Will all of the gang make it there together? What happened to John Kimorak?! Sorry this chapter was a bit shorter than the others. Well, I hope you enjoyed. Please review with your thoughts. It is much appreciated. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello everyone! My dear readers thank you so much for your reviews! They are much appreciated and very encouraging. I do hope you enjoy this chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan. I do however own Dawn, Captain Scarcosta and any other people mentioned not from Peter Pan. **

Dawn stumbled along through the air her hand gripping tightly to John's as they sped through the air. Her eyes remained closed as she dared not to look. The air around her became thick and warm, a rush of humid tension hanging there. A cool wind wisped by her face, and she felt the warmth of rays that could only be the sun's. A feeing within her being whispered to her; she was no longer in London.

Before long she could hear the waves of an ocean below, their gentle rhythm of gradual push and pull along the sands. A seagulls searching cry reached her ears, and a shout from below echoed muffled by the waves.

She felt John's arm stiffen as he steadied them. Her feet settled into fine sand and she opened her eyes. A soft gasp escaped as she awed at the brilliant blues of the sky as they contrasted with the shaded greens of the forest, and then reflected back into a sapphire ocean.

Dawn was at a loss for words that would do the island justice. "Neverland…" she whispered, the word hanging peacefully in the scene. Its name alone was just enough. Never had the young woman witnessed such a place. It seemed that all dreams trailed here. The indescribable scenes of the island were countered only by the stars themselves. She had heard of the tales of the Neverland star. It prided itself, shining brilliantly among the others, winking at those who knew where to find it.

She glanced at John as he smiled at her. For the first time he had witnessed the awe that struck him as a small child the last time he had come, that now seemed so long ago. He watched Dawn as a tiny smile traced her lips, and her eyes lit up igniting the childish glint that Peter had instilled in her.

Dawn peered down at her bare toes and wriggled them in the sand, chuckling slightly as she was filled with a giddiness that made her happiness soar. Caring not about the shoes that must have been lost in the winds of their flight she looked toward the sky, closed her eyes, and let the sun warmth soak her face. She felt a hand slip through hers and instinctively intertwined her fingers with his.

"Come on Dawn. We must find Peter before night comes." John suggested. A blush crept over Dawn's face as his voice brought her back, and she realized that they were indeed holding hands. An impulse typical of a young woman shot through her that might have caused her to let go and look away in shyness, had a feeling not stopped her. The feeling was John's grip as it tightened slightly before pulling gently urging her follow. She followed mindlessly, as the Darling boy led her into the green of the forest.

Entering the wild brush was as if they had just sauntered through the threshold of another world entirely. An enormous blooming canopy of leaves above shaded everything below, casting a light green shade to the ground. Thick vines snaked around, and through the branches of the island trees that grew from human height to giant towers. The colors of the forest were a mixture of browns, greens, and more colors than one could imagine in the blooms of the wild flowers. A brilliant red caught Dawn's eye as they passed a garden of daisies upon the ground.

John led Dawn through the forest as an expert, calling back all of the memories of adventures here. He ran along a hidden trail that was only seen to those of the Lost Boys code. His eyes flickered catching all the markers; the small nick from a dagger in the truck of a tree, an x formation of rocks in the moss, and an old animal trap consisting of a rope hanging from a branch.

Suddenly the two halted and John looked about analyzing the area. "Here, this is the place," he said. Dawn gazed inquisitively around the area, expecting to come across a shelter, a cabin, or a tent perhaps. She saw nothing except the dark moistened soil, and familiar green coated trees.

"I don't seem to see anything here, John." She whispered nearly afraid to speak. Dawn feared that something horrific might have occurred here. She pictured the ruins of a shelter torn to pieces by the rampage of rum driven pirates. She feared that John had led her to the correct location only to find the shelter missing.

Dawn glanced at the boy to her right expecting to find question in his eyes. He just smiled, his mouth curving to one side in a mischievous fashion as he adjusted his slightly scratched speckles on the bridge of his nose. "Now… if only I can recall how to get in…" he trailed off in thought staring at the forest ground.

Dawn moved toward a tree feeling its ancient bark and tracing her fingers along its scars. She turned to face John and watch him gather his thoughts, leaning her back against the tree. She sighed; exhaustion sweeping over her as she suddenly felt the chance to relax. Her black maid dress looked less than proper, strands of her dark hair dangling loosely from her falling bun. She leaned more into the tree trusting her weight to its solidness as she closed her eyes. Suddenly Dawn felt a buckle, a movement, near the small of her back. She heard the creak of an agonized wood and before her instinct to stand again was activated, she was falling. The pale green cast of the forest was replaced by a sudden darkness as she tumbled backward into an unknown place. The impulse to scream was overrun by her shock.

Dawn felt the impact of soft dirt below her. She hesitated to open her eyes slowly as she felt around the ground searching for something; anything. A voice sounded above her muffled and echoing down the hole she had stumbled upon. She stood, her legs shaken from the fall. Her mind fluttered with possibilities of where on earth she could have landed. Dawn's hazel eyes flickered about, turning from one side to the other, her mind processing her surroundings.

Her mouth hung open as she gazed upon the wooden root formed arch doorways leading into another place. A table sat in the center of the room, its wood seemingly alive with its roots buried in the ground. Animal skin door flaps hung over the arches, their tan brown color illuminated in the fire light that glowed in the pit near a wall of the room. The roof, tattered in appearance, was made of the roots of trees intertwined with one another, twisting into a contorted support of the soil above. A strewn pile of weapons lay in a corner among them swords, bow and arrow, and a hatchet. So far from the prestigious abodes of the wealthy in London, was this little underground home; the very site of it made Dawn shiver with anxiousness of the unknown.

The warmness of the room and its patted soil walls was enchanting. A feeling of relief made its way into her being as she suddenly felt like she belonged. It was as if she had been searching for this place all along. It called to her with its childish giddiness etched into the walls.

"Ah ha! I see that someone has found their tree hole, eh Dawn?" a voice muttered teasingly. Dawn nearly jumped from her skin as she turned swiftly in alarm at the voice that called her. Beside her, floating carelessly just above the ground, was Peter Pan himself smiling widely at her. "It fits you perfectly. I'm glad that you didn't need an adjustment. You'll just have to ask John what his was like," Peter laughed. Dawn raised an eyebrow in confusion, but decided better to fill her mind with more of this strange world until later.

There was a sudden disturbance seemingly coming from another hole just near were Dawn had fallen from. She peered up at noticed a figure sliding quite rapidly from the entrance to the secret place.

John tumbled into the room with a loud thump and proceeded to dust off his trousers. "I seem to be needing to get used to that again." He whispered to himself. Dawn giggled girlishly in an impulse that eluded reason. "I take it that you shall not need an 'adjustment' Dawn. You are quite fitted to your tree entrance. If I hadn't seen you take a dive into here, we might not have found this old place." He commented smiling.

"Adjustment?" Dawn asked inquisitively, finally deciding that her confusion had gone on long enough. John frowned, but this form of mouth was near a playful pout.

"Oh, yes… well you see, a tree does not fit a person, the person fits the tree. In other words, if one of the holes is larger or smaller than you… well then Peter will make you fit that tree in an adjustment with pixie dust. The squeezing is quite painful." He explained. Dawn cringed slightly, but shrugged the strange Neverland custom from her mind. There was no need to ponder it now. Just at that moment Wendy and Michael Darling came bursting through an animal skin door, looking with relief at their friends who had also found their way to the lair of Peter Pan.

* * *

Rosaline Scarcosta watched as the last of the cold winter air wisped its way from the island dissolving into the warmth of the coming summer that Pan had brought. She smiled knowingly sensing his presence on the island. Her boots dug into the moist soil as she trudged through the dank forest. "Oh curse this forest!" she spat. The captain took a moment to glance back at the troops behind her, if they could even be worthy of the term "troops."

Through the green of the forest she could scarcely make out the bumbling forms of her crew behind her shuffling through the moss. Scarcosta trudged on, her black boots crushing all beneath them as she stomped furiously.

Frustration overwhelmed her each passing day, growing more in intensity. A monstrous form of her past self rumbled within her, clawing, reaching, and begging to be free. Her emotions only hindered any chance of sealing the terrible thing away. Her crew, the bumbling bunch of idiots, was far from the issue at hand. The men were an average crew, standard by all means of typical pirate rule. In fact, they were a fantastic crew, but Rosaline would never bring it upon herself to bestow them with such a word. The crew, in this twisted reality that the captain could call her life her on this star, was simply a buffer for emotions that pulsed through Rosaline like venomous intent. No, the crew was not the source of the tortured captain's frustration. It could only be the past, if you could call it that on the island that keeps no time. It could only be her lust for a vengeance for the only happiness known. For at the moment of her dream the previous night, Rosaline's mind had halted at the very beginning of the conflict torturing her as it slowed, rendering every detail of the moment making it hers to cherish in grief.

_John Kimorak drew his sword, smiling as his passion for fighting enveloped him. Hook smirked wickedly, his lips curling back slowly to reveal his jostled teeth that formed a fear gripping grin._

_"I've found you two at last, caught in the act, red handed. Lovers eh? BAH! What a sight!" he chuckled menacingly, the dreaded pirate's voice tumbling out in a sickening groan. Hook's dark set eyes flickered toward Rosaline piercing her with a deadly gaze. He did not cease to smile once more as his mustache curled upward in disgust. "Really Rose darling, I expected more from a fierce woman such as yourself. You seemed so much… stronger… but now I see through your weak shell darling. You're nothing but a blithering coward." He spat. Hook lingered on his words methodically, expertly shrinking her deepest set emotions to pitiful piles of dust as his words burned through her. Rose. He had called her Rose. Her grip tightened around her pistol poised at the frightening captain of the "Jolly Roger." No one; no one but her John could call her Rose. The very fact that her confidence was being diminished by this… this… scoundrel!_

_John glanced at his lover as she stood her knees ready to buckle in anxiousness. 'Shoot him! Do it now!' her thoughts screamed. Rosaline trembled hopelessly, her feared expression faltering under Hook's still gaze. She took in a shaken breath as she felt a calming grip on her shoulder._

_"Peace, my Rose. He cannot hurt us." The Kimorak boy whispered gently to her ear. Rosaline her pistol still pointing to the feared pirate captain, nodded._

_John lunged in a single perfect bound his sword pointing outward at Hook. Hook answered thrusting forward and their weapons collided, sending a clang through the air. This continued, but Rosaline did nothing. She stood gripping her pistol fiercely, despite her shaking hand._

_Something inside screamed at her. No… she would not be the one to kill Hook. He would perish by hand of another. Everything in her common sense urged her, pressed her to pull that cold metal trigger and end it all. She could almost hear that bang that would scramble through the air as she fired. Alas, a surging feeling overwhelmed her and her finger sat still on the trigger daring not to move._

_A sudden breeze rushed by her, breaking the air that was lined with the clashing of swords. A giddy laugh broke through. Both the men halted their actions, standing still in on the beach._

_"Pan!" Hook spat angrily. The rising sun was breaking the soft clouds of the night, but only barely. It was scarcely enough to illuminate the darkened beach. A silhouette of a small figure dancing through air flickered about. Thus, came the first time Rosaline Scarcosta witnessed the boy named Pan that was said to rule the entire island. The boy swooped down over the heads of the bewildered men as he laughed slicing the air with a dagger._

_"Hook you codfish!" he laughed. Rosaline nearly stumbled backward at the words of the boy. His voice was lined with a carelessness that she did not understand. He was inches away from the most feared pirate in all Neverland seas and yet he was not afraid; and yet… he had called Hook a "codfish."_

_In the dim light of dawn Peter could barely make out the two figures that stood swords in hand. In a swift motion he held his dagger in his right hand and dove down upon a figure. "This is it CODFISH!" he yelled as he descended._

_He felt impact and pushed the weapon clear into the chest of the man believed to be his mortal enemy. The sun peaked behind the clouds and shed thin rays of light on the beach. By the moment that Peter realized that what he had hit was not Hook, it was done._

_Rosaline felt a tinge of fear, panic, and grief come over her. Her pistol thudded as it hit the sand, and she dropped hard onto her knees. As a captain of pirates she knew that thrust was lined with intent to kill. An agonized scream escaped her as she looked with fear at her lover who had been mistaken for the dreaded Hook inches beside him. "JOHN!" she yelled._

"Avenge him, Rosaline. Seek it for him. For John. Go for Pan." Her thoughts whispered a murderous intent in their hollow voice. Rosaline could only shake her head swiftly back and forth and store her thoughts away for a temporary relief. They would rise again and she would feel the pull of her mind, but now was not the time. Now the captain was intent on another mission. So much so that she trudged alone further into the forest, leaving her grumbling crew behind.

**Hmm... so more of Rosaline's past. Just to make it clear (because I feel that it was a little shaky there in her memory) Peter dove down at what he thought was Hook, and hit John instead. Rosaline's story is dark, but she has to have a grudge against Peter somehow. Sorry there was not much of Wendy and Michael in this chapter. There will be more of them as they explore Neverland once again. Thank you for reading and please review. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello all! Well, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I do so love all the wonderful reviews I've recieved. Thank you so much and please by all means keep reviewing. They are wonderful. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any original characters from Peter Pan, but I do own Rosaline Scarcosta, Dawn, and anyone else not original of the Peter Pan book.**

The smell of sweet burning wood captured the wind, loitering in the air, sending the signal of a dominate civilization nearby. A faint pounding grew steadily louder and the hard rhythm of drums, matched that of the cricket song of the night. The surrounding forest was shaded gray by the moon, as the stars twinkled above, winking ever so slightly at the people below.

All felt an air of anxiousness about them, as they drew closer to the destination. Peter in the lead of the group, drifted effortlessly above the ground in his careless joining with the air. Wendy watched her steps on the beaten path. A flash of remembrance sped through her unconscious.

"The Indians," she whispered as they drew close. Dawn beside her flashed a sudden look of worry at her friend.

"Indians? Peter is taking us to Indians?!" she whispered harshly, a slight but somehow extremely noticeable fear in her voice. Dawn's hazel eyes flickered left to right, as if a Native might spring out at any moment armed with a bow and arrow.

"Oh! Don't fret. They are quite kind. The tribe is Peter's ally. He did save Tigerlilly after all." Wendy replied. She watched patiently as Dawn's eyebrow raised in question. "She is the daughter of the chief. Peter saved her from Hook." Wendy added. Admiration sprinkled her tone as she spoke of her beloved Peter.

Before long, the smell of campfires grew thicker and voiced sounded muffled beyond the trees. The scene of an exotic and unknown people unfolded in front of Dawn as she was scarcely aware that her legs continued to move in a steady trot, drawing closer to the warm invitation of the tribe. The trees became fewer and soon there was vast open field of wavering grass. Night blanketed the space with stars, as campfires roared in pleasant motions near the shelters. Tents of tanned animal skin stood sturdy, adorned with images of linear animals and people. The field was set ablaze with the fire lights, as they colored everything a flickering orange and pale yellow.

Dark silhouettes danced in what seemed like patterns of disarray and joyful chaos. Even so, there was a gracefulness to their movements as they seemed to be just another flowing part of the grass below their feet. Drum beats thundered steadily along with the crackle of the fires and the voices of the tribe.

Peter smirked widely as his gaze set upon a burly man wearing a headdress of colored feathers. The man sauntered over to Peter, swaying in a kind of run, his arms outstretched in embrace. He grasped Peter in a heavy hug, picking the boy a few inches off the ground. He put Peter down with a contented sigh and smiled. He spoke to Peter in a swift tongue that no one quite understood. Peter nodded and replied just as swift. As his lips moved and a series of sounds came out that sounded like a pile of gibberish. The man laughed as if Peter had just told him an incredible joke.

Peter turned and gestured to the gang behind him. "Ah ha ha ha! I see that Wendy, John, and Michael have returned. Come embrace your chief!" the man announced before Peter could speak. Dawn nearly stumbled back in shock as the man spoke in perfect English; his accent of gibberish from before was perfectly shadowed. As the Darling children hesitated awkwardly to come forward, the chief's attention was suddenly directed at the new addition to Peter's gang. "Who is this new lady?" he asked, curiously with a fatherly smile. Dawn's immediate reaction was to shy away, but she commanded herself to stay firm in her place before the Indian. She looked him over, taking in his appearance fully. He was dark skinned, a flawless golden tan. His dark hair hung behind him strung into a long braid. His clothes consisted of tan animal skin, and a fairly large feathered headdress adorned his head, bestowing him as the leader.

"A pleasure to meet you… uhh…sir." She said, stepping forward and extending her hand. The chief looked down questionably at her hand, both brows raised. Before she had time to react, Dawn was drawn into a large hug, big enough to encase a bear. The chief released her and she stumbled back barely catching her footing.

"Father of Eagle. You may call me chief, if you like… ms…" he left an opening for Dawn to answer with her name.

"Dawn." She replied smiling. The chief laughed again.

"I like you already Dawn. Your name is that of a true Indian. The breaking dawn is nature's rise after all." He said. Dawn replied by nodding as she absorbed the process which had just taken place. Apparently, she had just been accepted by the tribe.

Another figure dark and graceful approached them. A simple smile settled into the chief's features as he faced the oncoming form, the smile reaching his shadowy brown eyes. Peter smiled also, a boyish grin.

John spotted the figure and a deep blush crept over his face. He could scarcely hinder the thoughts that invaded his mind. Such thoughts were barricaded by the outlines of high society men, but here such boundaries were simply vanished remembrances. The woman before him stood relaxed in a stance with her back straight and her balance true, those of which could only be taught by the work of a fierce fighter. Her presence was calming, intertwined with the space around her. Long, stick straight black hair flowed perfectly down her back reaching almost to her curved waist. Piercing aqua green eyes moved slowly from one person to the other, as they showed the lift for a smile hidden behind her dark lashes. Her skin was golden in the firelight, and her tan clothes, that seldom hid her figure, were dyed a brilliant red that mixed with their natural brown.

"Tigerlilly!" Michael exclaimed, snapping John away from his thoughts. Dawn's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. The woman before her, that couldn't have been more than a year her senior, was the most strikingly gorgeous girl she had ever seen. It was true what travelers claimed of exotic persons. They were fantastically pretty in every way. At the same moment Wendy and Dawn were both teased by a poking twinge of jealousy.

Wendy furrowed her brow disgustingly for no longer than a split second, realizing immediately how her action had been incredibly rude even if no one had seen it. Tigerlilly gave a small nod of acknowledgement to John, Michael, Wendy, and Dawn. After that however, all her attention was thrust upon Peter almost with eager vigor.

"Peter." She said. Unlike her father, an exotic accent outlined the word. "Come come!" she urged sweetly, taking him by the hand. Wendy inhaled and exhaled loudly, as her breath came out in a flustered snort of annoyance. Peter took no notice to this and followed Tigerlilly gleefully to a large fire and proceeded in dancing among the tribe members.

She couldn't help but think of the last time she had been here. Squall. Yes, that's what they had called her. Soon enough she would be exuded from the merriment and be commanded by a woman to gather firewood and be of use, in a language that Wendy would not comprehend. Wendy Darling shook her head. Oh no. No. She would not. Tonight her well bred instincts of a proper lady would erupt in a flurry of elegance, and she would participate in this wild celebration of the night. Many of her socialite skills of London excellence in which her mother had instilled in her would gather together and form a perfect harmony. Wendy would be the best intersection between a proper lady and fierce Indian Neverland had ever had the pleasure of harboring.

Wendy trudged over to the fire, and observed the other dancers for a moment. After she was sure she had their repetitive movements in mind, she attempted the swaying of her hips. Wendy had scarcely taken two steps in dance when the crackling bang of a gun shot rang in the field.

* * *

The sound shocked the tribe, and the intense beating of the drums halted mid beat. Some jumped in surprise, and others peered in the direction of the sound. Wendy turned also and her eyes grew wide in astonishment.

A female, stood before them all. Her very presence commanded respect. She did not look like one to trifle with. Wendy's thoughts explored all possibilities as she gazed at the woman clad in red and black. A pirate, most defiantly a pirate. The sheen of her clothing reflected eerily in the firelight as it revealed the deep black of her boots that began at her knees and her equally as deep coat. Her trousers were red, a fiery appearance. A white blouse peeked from her coat outlining her upper curves. This woman knew she was pretty, and had no problems displaying it. There was something slightly odd about her though. She was a female pirate, this was obviously odd. Unlike most pirates though, she was dressed in brilliantly tailored attire… and, from what Wendy could tell, she looked clean. She was of the wealthy class, this was certain.

"Scarcosta… what are you doing here?" the chief inquired. Wendy was only a few yards away from the chief and the gang, and she could hear the nervousness in his voice.

Rosaline scoffed. "Father of Eagle, I've come for Crying Panther." She announced, her tone insistent.

"Why have you come for Panther? He is no business of yours." Chief suggested, harshly.

Just as the chief finished his words, Peter with Tigerlilly close behind came trotting up near the conflict. "Scarcosta! Ah, the 'minnow' has come to play!" Peter cried eagerly, un sheathing his dagger. Just as he had done for Hook, Peter adopted another slightly degrading and childish nickname for his foe. Minnow, as Scarcosta is known to Peter, seemed fit for the reason that it was a small useless fish.

"Pan…" Rosaline spat. "I do not appreciate being called a fish! Now, I mean no harm to these people. I've only come for Panther. If this pointless name calling and denial to let me have my request continues, I will mean harm." She commanded, her tone growing more irritated. The captain's lust to have Pan's blood dripping through her fingers was nearly insatiable, but it would be a great risk to kill him here with the tribe to fight back. Killing the boy would be dangerous here. It must be saved for another time.

"Why have you come for Panther?" the chief repeated cautiously. He could sense the murderous intent seeping from the woman before him. He watched as her dark brows furrowed and her mouth upturned in an annoyed snarl. Though, despite the harshness of her presence, the chief could see a tinge of pain in her eyes. They held a gaping trench of sorrow, which was scarcely shadowed by her anger.

"He was a good friend of John's. A good friend of your former ally. I need him to assist me in unraveling some things. I give my word that no harm will come of him." She explained.

"John… John Kimorak? Ah, yes. He is our ally. A good pirate and a good man. He fought for us against Hook many times. Why do you say he is our former ally?" the chief asked emphasizing "former."

The flash of pain Father of Eagle had seen before trailed over her features. "He's dead." She said, her voice just creeping over a whisper. As if deciding something, Rosaline glanced at Peter, her eyes flickering to him for a moment. Her mouth was a tight line, and murderous intent was overtaken by grief, though only for a moment. "Pan killed him." She said.

Shocked, the chief turned to look at Peter to his right. "Killed him?!" he exclaimed.

"I thought it was that codfish Hook! One strike was all it took." Peter said, as if he was proud of this. The chief stared at Peter.

"I see… how... unfortunate to lose him." He commented sadly. Peter suddenly picked up on the various emotions that surrounded him.

"Oh…" he said regretfully. "I killed your ally, chief… I'm sorry." He whispered. The chief smiled.

"We still have the fiercest fighter as our ally though!" he said. Peter's sunken expression shot up in a wave of joy. He puffed his chest and stood proud.

"Of course I am the best around!" he exclaimed, rising effortlessly from the ground and crowing. Many of the girls around him giggled with delight at his foolishness.

"Well… Panther come! Go with Scarcosta and do as she wills." Chief commanded. An Indian from the crowd ran up to them all. He looked nervous in the presence of the feared female.

"You have my word." Rosaline said. She turned and began to walk away in the forest, her boots brushing in the grass. Panther followed, looking back at the tribe and smiling bravely.

As Scarcosta disappeared, John Darling peered into the woods with a disbelieving expression on his face. The many pirate adventure tales he had engrossed his time with, now gave him valid knowledge in this strange world called Neverland. He knew many things about pirates, about their minds.

"What good is the word of a pirate?" he mumbled. John himself knew the answer to his question. He knew that the word of a pirate was indeed no good.

**Interesting. Is Rosaline the same as the other pirates John knows so much about? What is she using Panther for? I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I put more Wendy in this chapter. I do not want my OC to be a large burden and take most of the story. Besides, Wendy is such a nice character to write. I must admit... I had trouble with the Indians' names. I supose they turned out alright though. Thank you for reading. I would appreciate any feedback. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello again dear readers! Well I hope you haven't waited terribly long for this chapter. Please enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan, Wendy, John, or Michael. **

The bell tolled at midnight in London despite its crumbling exterior. The great city of London lay strewn in pieces of stone, ravaged by cannon balls that had fallen from the sky three weeks earlier. The night was a misty cool cover that came as usual, even when nothing in the city seemed usual at all.

The expanded Darling abode now served as a home for the broken. Refugees of the inner city circle gathering there; at a place that by some divine miracle had only been damaged slightly on its northern wall as the dusts cleared.

Mrs. Darling sat in the nursery, her grieving shadow flickering against the wall by the bed from the dying candle flame. She sobbed, merciless tears streaming seemingly at their own will down her face. Not a single thought pertaining to how atrocious this act was even began to enter her mind. Mrs. Darling was indeed the prize of the women in all of London with her elegant frame, exquisite manners, and flawless company, but today she was broken.

The blood. Oh, the blood, how she hated it. The Darling woman had begun to absolutely despise her home. New people came each day, survivors of the ransacking of the city. They came in groups, as individuals, as ghosts. They came wounded, blood on their hands. The Darling house was filled with them. Due to its newly added size, the home was a perfect refuge.

Mrs. Darling, as a mother, had seen many a cuts and bruises from her two pirate-playing boys. This though… this was enough. Her children were gone again, and now she must deal with the faces and wounds of other children broken by a war brought from the stars.

Just as she thought that her babies had grown into fine young additions to high London society, they had flown away once more, off to be children again. Off to be children in a place that she could not hold them and coon, in a place where dangers stalked them in the island nights.

Mrs. Darling stared out the nursery window, there at the stars that shined in the sky through the mist. Second to the right, that star she stared at… and for one outrageously childish moment she thought she saw it wink right at her.

* * *

An Indian, strong in appearance and gentle in speech, walked along side a pirate, who seemed mean as a storm. Scarcosta's grim expression shadowed lightly over her deepening sorrow that grew in her ocean eyes. She was searching for something left behind by her lover, and now with this Indian she was going to find it.

Crying Panther peered intently at the mossy green ground, the thick trees, and finally the rocks. A simple nod from him acknowledged remembrance. "Yes, it is here." He said slowly, his words thickly accented. The pirate captain nodded, her face determined.

"Dig." She commanded.

* * *

In the lantern lit underground home of wood, there conversed Peter and Wendy, alone after the rest of the gang went for berries. The place smelled of sweet cinnamon after cooking of the mother herself, Wendy Darling, and her wonderful meal. There was quiet in the home now as the self proclaimed master of Neverland and his adoring girl sat in thought.

Peter pondered the thought as he sat cross legged on the bear skin sheets. With his chin settled in his hand, elbow resting on knee, the boy looked at Wendy with a confused expression. He laughed a boyish tinkling. "Wendy, I've always loved you! Girls ask such silly questions!"

Wendy shook her head, pale, worried emotion lining her features. "You don't understand Peter." she said softly, as was her instinct as a make believe mother with this boy. In the course of absence from the sweet childish ignorance of Neverland, poor Wendy Darling had grown quite a bit. She was more near a woman than she ever fathomed she would be. For Wendy had always thought Peter would come again and fly her away forever to the place she loved, dare she realize, even more than London. "I asked you if this was all games to you. Peter, I quite realize that you are a child… we are all children here, but am I the mother or the wife in your game?"

Peter sat straighter, and cocked his head, his untamed locks tipping with it. "Wife." He scoffed. "Wife and husband are what grownups do! We are the mother and father. You are the mother and I am the fa-"

"No, peter." Wendy interrupted. The Darling girl indeed felt a small pang of reminder to use her manners, but this was fading. So far from London, far from home, the concerns of noble society women barely touched her now. Wendy was a lady, and thereof would always be lady bred in the manners of the wealthy city. Now though, that pang meant nothing at this moment because Peter was the child and Wendy was the grownup.

"Wendy…" Peter's eyes became filled with pain as he looked Wendy. She was stern, unmoving and this expression and her still straight position in the wooden chair frightened him.

"I might've thought you would understand… but you're just a boy." She whispered. Wendy had once thought that all she ever wanted was to be here in Neverland with Peter, Michael and John. Somehow though, in some kind of selfish misunderstanding of herself, Wendy wanted more. She wished to be the wife. In this flawless island of dreams, love was missing to her. This was no longer a game of playing mother. More grown senses of place and stability pressed for something more with the boy she adored most. Oh, how she loved him so. This, Peter would never understand for he and all others on the island are possessed with infinite childhood. Peter loved Wendy, but he was a boy, and nothing more.

Tears rushed fast and unbarred by the barriers of civility in the Darling girl. They came and ran down her face in tiny streams one by one; she never thought to wipe them away until a hand, gentle and careful, caught one on a finger as it slid down her cheek.

"Don't cry Wendy," his voice came pleading with all the childish softness anyone would have thought possible. Charm trailed of Peter in that certain magic he had to change anyone's mood or mind. Kind, genuine eyes peered at her.

"You've grown, Wendy." Peter said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. Wendy furrowed her fine brows at hearing the boy say that a second time.

"I know Peter, and this I cannot take back. Not even here in Neverland's magic. I could only wish I was a girl again, to be as much as a child as you are." Wendy wished this with all her being. If she was a child, only then maybe she wouldn't want so much. She could live in that bliss of unknowing forever on Neverland. Here, now she could still do such, but the bliss would not be the same. Wendy was not a selfish girl, not at all. By divine nature she was just as her mother, kind and giving with will. Somehow though, here so very close to everything she'd ever dreamed to wish for, something was missing and it was tearing her apart.

Peter just laughed. "Well, you're not quite a grownup yet silly! You talk as if you're an old woman."

"Oh, dear… now I sound old." Wendy answered, less signs of tears in her voice, and a smile underlay her comment. For Peter's charm had already worked on her, and the childish glint he had instilled.

Peter stepped back from the girl and looked at her with a smile gracing his face. "I have great news, Wendy!" he said.

Wendy arched an eyebrow, curious as to what the great news could possibly be. "I could grow just like you. Grow until I was tall like you! I would be great Wendy. If you wish it, I would make you happy and grow." Peter paused in thought for a moment. "Well… not all the way of course. It just depends on how long I stay out there on the ocean I guess." Peter thought again, and just in seconds had devised a plan. "I would disguise myself as a pirate! Yes! Then I could live among the ships I've seen out there-" Peter halted his speech as Wendy shushed him.

Peter's plan was indeed able to work. For, miles off the Neverland coast were the waters, in which no one dared to go, save for the pirates that dwelled there in a society all their own. If one was far enough away from the island's magic, then they will grow older. On the island no one grows up, but deep in the sea, they do. For the magic can only reach so far, and even Peter himself is not immune to age.

Wendy shook her head urgently at the very idea. "No, Peter you mustn't!" she cried. Oh, but poor Wendy Darling knew that her plea could never prod the will of the stubborn boy once his mind was made and set. Her words of plea tonight had been the same as when she was here last. She had pleaded for him not to venture near Hook, nor call his name in tease. Never the less, Peter always did what it was he wanted, and in some divine mischievous fate, he always came out of it unharmed. The charm and sheer luck of the boy was undeniable.

"I'll be fine Wendy. A few nights would do it eh? Years could catch up with me in days out there. I must tell John and Michael of this new adventure. The two new lost boys and the girl will be happy to hear this news from their leader." Without another word, Peter was gone in a quick swoop of flight out the hidden entrance. Off to summon his troops.

* * *

Everything was set. With the box the Indian had dug up tucked tightly under her arm, Rosaline Scarcosta trudged through the thick of the forest floor headed for her ship. The "Vixen's Revenge," lay still on the sea's waters, thin waves crawling under the hull. Before, the ship appeared battered, the result of naval battle; now, its hull shined clear of barnacles, the name of the ship freshly painted in black lettering. The masts were new, shining black sails settled draped in layers as little wind came through the island heat.

As Scarcost's boot touched the deck all talk was quieted by her presence. The crew stopped mid-drink to listen for orders, eyeing the captain's stance carefully so as to see what mood she was holding. Scarcosta waited as all was quiet, but the sea tumbling on the shore nearby.

"Well! What are you doing you idiots?! Make sail for Crow's harbor. We'll be meeting with the Captain Morquin of the "Red Vanquish." Try to not seem so… grimy." She ordered.

So the "Vixen's Revenge" released the sails, and was off into the sea. The only thing on the captain's mind was her love, her John. She would have vengeance yet for him. Rosaline was never like this before. In fact, when she was a young girl she had vowed never to be cold. However, as she would learn, in a pirate's life this is the only path. Hook had been cold, ravaged by greed and indifference, and driven to insanity by a single flying boy. Rosaline had promised herself she would never become such. Then suddenly when all was taken from her on the beach that day by that Pan boy, what else but cold could replace the gash? In a person with a soul tortured by grief, one's heart was black and cold. Such was a pirate captain's fate, sadly. Oh, but who could warm the soul of one lonely pirate? Nothing but the sweet lover of revenge, most thought. This was not the case here. For, Scarcosta would learn yet what favor Peter did her by the death of her John.

* * *

"Oh how fantastic! A plan Peter? A plan for what?" John inquired eagerly. Michael was fidgeting anxiously in his stance, upon hearing about a new adventure. Dawn sat on the ground, on her knees, peering at the boys in mystified wonder. To her, a girl unaccustomed to the Neverland adventures, they were acting quite… boyish. Wendy sat alone on the bear skin bed of Peter's room, continuously smoothing her nightgown, nervously.

All of them were waiting as Peter paced his room in front of them thinking of how to present his magnificent plan. Peter usually never allowed anyone in his room, not even Wendy, but this meeting was important. Thus, having it in his room, the grandest of all, was quite rare.

"Alright!" Peter announced, halting in the middle of the room, and pointing his finger to the sky in epiphany.

"What is it, Peter?" Dawn asked, confused.

"I have a new adventure for you all. Starting as soon as I set out, John is the leader." There was a small pause as Peter thought upon this. "Only for a little while of course because I am always the true leader." He corrected quickly.

"Of course." Everyone answered, nearly in unison. John crossed his arms, attempting to confine his pure glee at being crowned leader… even if it was just for a little while. John Darling was fine fitted for this role of course. With his extensive knowledge of the island from past adventures, pirates, and negotiations with the Indians, he was perfect. Right after Peter's announcement, John had already been planning out food missions and lagoon visits in coordination with other necessary things. He looked around the room for a moment as Peter continued. He had decided that Dawn would be his right hand man… or woman rather. The girl had become quite skilled at fighting, tree climbing, and flying. Well perhaps flying wasn't her best point, but indeed she was skilled in navigating the island now. As John planned, he had nearly forgotten to listen to what Peter was getting at.

"…so then I will grow. Just a little, enough to be tall as Wendy." This was all John caught of Peter's words.

"W-What?" he stammered, shocked.

"Peter's going to the outer seas… to live in disguise as a pirate until he grows…" Michael explained to his brother, equally as dumbfounded. No one had words. Even Dawn knew the unpredictability of Peter, but never had she thought he would do a thing like this.

"Why?" Dawn asked simply, her dark brows arched.

"Well…for Wendy of course! She's grown a bit… I don't like that really… but she can't get any littler. I can get bigger though." Peter explained.

"That's a very grown up thing to do for someone you love, Peter." John commented, struck by the boy's sudden wish to grow. He looked past Peter, and caught a glimpse of his sister with a slight of blush in her cheeks.

Peter made a "pfft," sound with his mouth. "Silly John. I would never do anything grown ups do. Besides, Wendy and I are mother and father... husband and wife. We need to match, don't we? Oh, and I can't have my troops being taller than me, can I?" Peter said as he walked over to John and looked up at him about five inches.

John just laughed. "I suppose not." He said.

"I do so often feel confused here." Dawn commented.

Tomorrow the preparations would begin. Wendy and Dawn would be occupied sewing new pirate attire for Peter, while Michael and John would make certain of having a boat made by the Indians for departure. Wendy was ever so worried for her Peter, living among the rum filled pirates, even if it was only for a short while. At the thought of Peter doing such a thing for her, Wendy smiled. She couldn't stop him, that stubborn boy. She would worry, but surely everything would be fine. Would it now? Well, if it was then it wouldn't be an adventure now would it?

The night came and the sun rose again on Neverland. The ship of a female pirate left for Crow's harbor, and a boy left the island for the seas.

**What awaits Peter among the pirates? Danger? Well, of course! Might something happen on the island while the leader is gone? Oh, the wonders of Neverland. Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review if you wish. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Greetings again! I am terribly sorry about the delay of this chapter. Please enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan or any other characters of the original book. However I do own Dawn, Scarcosta and other mentions not in the book. **

Peter was s utterly and completely bored. It was quite a feat to find boredom on such an island with all its adventures, Indians, mountains, and seas. He reminded himself again that he mustn't fly, for he must appear a pirate, not a boy. Slowly the salt wind brushed over the sea, and through Peter's locks. He fidgeted with his belt, his ruffled shirt, his stolen black leather boots. The boots were just a few feet big for the boy, and Peter had known this when he first put them on.

Wendy had handed them to him, nearly smirking, though it was small and wistful. As he had stared down at his leather clad feet, Wendy had giggled. "You'll grow into them, of course." She had said. Grow into them… hmph.

Even worse than the boots though, was his hair. Wendy had simply insisted he wash it. He did as told, and came from the lagoon clean and squeaky, but then Wendy had done the unthinkable. She combed it! Combed his hair! Oh, the misery of that poor boy.

Suddenly this growing up just for Wendy lost a bit of its adventurous qualities as Peter's small boat continued to roll over a fathomless blue sea. Though there was no actual measurement of time on a star of eternity, Peter knew he had been sailing for hours. In a prod of frustration he rumpled his locks, shaking his head and running his fingers through them. There. Messy again. All the better.

The water pushed against the small ship, and Peter held tight to its single mast wishing ever so much that he could just fly there. However, flying had been overruled by John. He had suggested that Peter sail to Crow's harbor where the pirates dwelled, for if he flew, he was sure to be spotted and killed.

Peter missed his worn tunic with its leaves and twigs. These horrible black pants held tight to his slender boyish legs. The only part of his old attire he had been able to keep was his dagger at his side, hanging now on his new belt. However, Peter had snuck his Pan pipes into his coat pocket when neither John nor Wendy had been watching. So it was safe to say that Peter had been able to keep two articles of old attire. Dawn had seen him pack the Pan pipes, but she had just smirked and given a small wink showing that she wouldn't tell. She'd become extremely loyal to Peter, her childish glint expanding every day.

Suddenly the wind picked up and the single sail fluttered, sending the boat crashing over the water in one swift lurch. Peter held tight, and faded in the distance of this bright sea, he saw the cove. An amazing pulsing anxiousness pulled him.

He gazed upon the lair of high society piracy that had once been a small mystery to him. The cove rose from the blue ocean, its opening gaping like the mouth of an enormous sea monster. Its jagged sides broke the waves that tore against it, creating a creamy foaming froth that outlined the cove. Peter could see the small flickers of torch light that illuminated the inside of the cave. Ships dotted the waters around the cove, anchored but swaying on the rolling waves. The great ships were painted all variations of colors, the names glistening in black on the sides. Some groups of ships appeared to be in entire fleets, all having the same color sail. Squinting, Peter made out the name of the ship familiar to him. The "Vixen's Revenge" was anchored alone near the west side of the cove, its lowered black sails fluttering slightly.

A flicker of mischievousness reached the boy's face. "Scarcosta." He whispered.

* * *

John looked about his crew, peering at them as a fierce captain might. He had always fancied being the leader, and here he stood before his team, commanding them. John raised his sword into the damp forest air.

"Alright." He began. "Dawn is to commence hunting the boar with Michael. Wendy you and I are going to visit the lagoon to obtain water. Afterwards, we will all meet at the hideout."

Everyone nodded in agreement and comprehension. Then there was a strange and still silence as if something was missing. Peter wasn't here. It was quite odd really. Everyone stood there for a moment holding the silence. The magic of the island was sinking with the setting sun, for whenever Peter was absent, Neverland went into a kind of sleep.

Wendy absentmindedly shivered as a cold wind brushed her frame. "Oh dear." She whispered, her voice shattering the thick silence. She knew that Neverland would hold into a winter state until Peter returned to bring the summer. Since the star was a strange place where things did not occur as in the land of adults, there were no in between seasons for the island. A change of seasons happened rapidly and suddenly, drifting into the opposite climate in one swift wind.

John stiffened as he realized. Internally he cursed himself for forgetting such a thing. Now the plans had to be modified, and immediately the machine of meticulous planning started with a jolt in the Darling boy's mind.

Dawn felt the cold wind come on, and knew it was vastly different than the ordinary evening breezes. These winds came not from the ocean, but from everywhere, whispering of the oncoming winter. Having been a resident of London since childhood, she knew when a harsh winter was coming, and this was it.

Everything happened at once as if they all were speeding through time itself. Leaves began to fall of the trees, browning and wrinkling as they descended. A wind rushed through the thick forest, chasing away the warmth and dampness of the summer air. Leaves fell faster, aging into dust before they hit the mossy floor. All around them cold seeped in, and just as the sun set, clouds crept over the sky. The clouds blotted out the night sky, winter creeping ever faster on the island.

Breath could be seen in puffs of vapor now. There was a bleak quiet as animals in the forest scrambled to their hiding places. The birds had vanished, and even the crickets of the soil were gone and silent.

Michael gazed up at the sky. "Snow." He said. The word escaped him as if he had sighed it. Sure enough, the white crystals began to fall just as the summer rains had. In a second it seemed the entire island had been thrust into winter as the sun had set and Peter had left.

John's brows wrinkled in frustration. He hadn't expected winter, not yet. Slowly, he took a breath. "Alright then. To the hideout first to find some more decent winter clothes. Dawn, I need you to come with me afterwards. We will be tracking down the last few boar out here. Despite this cold we still need food. Michael, you and Wendy rush about the hideout and make certain that all holes in the soil and moss roof are patched. You two also need to retrieve the extra bear skins from the lower den. After this, Michael you have to gather as much wood as you can before the snow gets over and inch. Wet wood won't do us any good. Any dry straw you can manage to find is needed also. Let's head out!" So, off to the hideout they trekked.

* * *

Peter walked about the boardwalks of the cove, glancing left and right. The inside of the cove was layered with wooden planks along the rocky bottom to make a pathway entrance. He had traveled up the rickety stairs, to find himself on a boardwalk of sorts.

The place smelled of musty rum, and the stench of warm sweat. Pirates from all ships bumbled around, rum jugs in hand, spraying stingy laughs and hearty insults to one another. Everything was illuminated by torches stuck in crevices along the jagged stone walls. The torch light shone dimly in the dark where the sunlight of Neverland did not reach.

Peter cast a hesitant glance behind him where the cove entrance arched opening to the bright seas. The sunlight was fading now, casting ribbons of orange over the waters. Already he felt his magic fading. It wasn't fading; rather it was brushing off him. Thin coatings of pixie dust lay where he stepped, leaving diming golden footprints. Each time less and less dust was left behind. Peter grinned a childish smile that lit all his courage. He ventured farther into the cove where the life of a pirate awaited him.

* * *

Indian moccasins trudged through the snow, already five inches thick. Every sound was muffled in the covering of snow, and so the two hunters did not appear to make a sound. Snow still fell in thick white flakes, sticking to every part of Dawn and John.

Dawn adjusted the wooden quiver on her back, held in place by a leather strap bound around it and then strapped across her chest. The feathered arrows clunked woodenly in the quiver. Dawn had chosen the Indian crafted bow and arrow set to suit her on her hunt. A terrible sense of balance had proved it difficult for her to wield a sword, let alone kill an animal with it. Thus, she had trained herself in the art of shooting, proving much better at this than swordsmanship.

The bearskin cloak she wore was simply drenched in snow flakes, the tiny crystals sticking to her everywhere. Although her legs were nearly frozen, the poor maid only wearing her worn maid dress, Dawn was quite content.

John led the way through the trees, expertly trailing their meal for the night through its tracks in the snow covered moss. Suddenly he halted, causing Dawn to nearly stumble onto his back. Through the frost covered trees and the thick underbrush, they could hear the great snorting and rummaging of the island boar. The deep heavy breaths of the thing gave away its position just beyond the next few trees. The boar was spotted easily in the white snow with its wiry brown coat.

Dawn gave a small gasp. In her mind she was wondering how in bloody he-… how on earth she was going to kill that huge thing. Her gaze settled on its thick, sharp tusks. She grimaced. That wild animal could tear her to shreds! She was tossed from her thoughts when John nudged her.

He cocked his head to her quiver, signaling for her to ready. Dawn nodded and drew a blue feathered arrow from her quiver. Carefully and deliberately, she placed it upon the string of the bow, her arm pulled back, creating a thin tension on the wire. John drew his sword from his side and softened his breaths so as to not be heard by the boar.

The two moved forward, closing in on the beast. Dawn aimed straight for the boar's liver, a fatal shot. She glanced at John. He gave her a small silent nod, and with that she let fly the arrow from her bow.

The arrow zipped through the thin winter air without a sound, but just at that moment the boar shifted causing the arrow to only glance its torso. Enraged, the boar stomped about, snorting and roaring. The cut from Dawn's arrow bled from the flesh, dripping in crimson spots onto the snow. A sudden cringe of fear clenched Dawn, and she realized the boar was going to charge them both.

John's hand met with Dawn's and he pulled hard on her, to get her to move. "Move!" he shouted. They stumbled over the ground, snow crunching under their hasted steps.

John knew very well that they could never outrun the boar. Swiftly he turned, gripping Dawn's hand tighter, pulling her along. "Get another shot ready. I'll buy you the time."

John Darling watched as the boar charged, tusks coming forward. The great animal plowed through the snow, heading straight for him. John simply readied his sword and his stance, ready to dodge the deadly tusks and slice a glancing blow.

The beast drew closer, feet away from John now. Suddenly the boar's dark little eyes darted to Dawn who was far off to John's left. In a less than graceful movement, the animal skidded to a half stop and changed direction, its hooves scraping against the frost and snow.

Dawn gasped, her new arrow clutched in her hand. Shakily she placed it, pulled back, closed her eyes, and let fly the arrow. There was a sickening crack as the arrow made contact with the boar's skull. The beast went down, skidding along the snow.

Dawn sighed in relief, believing the beast to be dead. Her breath trailed out in a puff in the cold winter air. John with shocked eyes had seen the shot. He knew that the boar couldn't be dead. An educated young man, he had studied animals in his university studies. Boars where known for their tusks, but also for their incredibly thick skulls.

Just then, the boar stood, and shook its massive head with a disoriented snort. "Dawn, run!" John yelled, frantic, his voice climbing an octive higher. Dawn scarcely had a moment to scream before the boar charged her. She leapt for dear life to her right, landing with an "umph" in the freezing snow. Arrows lay scattered as they had been thrown from her quiver.

All she heard was the boar's agonized squeal, and then John's soft breathing. She stood from the ground, brushing the flakes off her dress. A look of shock came over her expression at what she saw.

The boar on its side, its black eyes wide from its moment of pain before death; John still holding his sword steady in the boar's side. Dark crimson blood seeped from the animal, pouring over its tangled coat onto the pure white snow. John panted heavily, his hair dangling wildly in his face, shadowing his eyes. He pulled the sword from the animal in one hard yank.

He stumbled over to Dawn, and finally reached her, having to hold himself up on a tree. He pressed his back to the frosted tree. "Nice shot," he breathed. "Would have killed him… but boar's skulls are thick…We got him though."

A shiver of terror ripped through Dawn. Somehow John's words had been strange, strangled almost. She stepped forward and gently brushed the tangled locks from his face. He winced slightly. A scrape now rested on his cheek. Dawn inspected him further. In a moment of shear horror, Dawn realized that John's side had been grazed by a tusk. Just a graze, not deep, but still the crimson blood poured from it, and that was enough to strike fear into anyone.

"Oh…John…" she nearly whimpered. John just gave a wry smile.

"I'm alright. Come one let's get this thing back to the hideout." He suggested bluntly. John pushed himself from the tree, only to stumble forward and almost to the ground. He sighed miserably in pain. Then a warm hand clasped his arm.

Dawn draped the Darling boy's arm over her shoulder. She was just a bit shorter than him, but she managed to support his left side. "I'm sorry Mr. Leader, but I'm going to have to disobey that command. Let's get you back first. Michael can help me drag our beast to the hideout after that." She insisted teasingly. A tiny, sly smile graced her face.

"Fine." John sighed. He had meant to sound disappointed, but he simply couldn't.

**Here you are! I hope you enjoyed this chapter... and I will try to be more diligent about getting these written and posted. What will happen to Peter as he becomes a pirate? Will he join a ship's crew, or wander in the coves? How will the rest of the gang cope with winter? Oh dear, so much trouble in Neverland. Please review if you wish. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello! Well I hope I have been more prompt with getting this chapter out. I put some JohnxOC in the last chapter so this chapter is more centered around PeterxWendy. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter, John, or Michael. **

The inner cove stirred with people, cramming near the walls along the boardwalk. Boots and grime coated bare feet tapped on the wooden boardwalk pathways lit by lanterns and candles alike.

Shadows danced on the varying heights of stone cove ceiling. Peter's boots rapped hollowly on the wood as he strode, stepping carefully so as not to trip in his over sized shoes. He made hast through the boardwalks past the rum shops and the gunpowder suppliers. All along the wide boardwalk there were these stops where the pirates bargained. The pathways were wide like streets, made of all wood in the dark cove. They stood like bridges above the jagged stone floors below that would be covered by sea water when the tides rose. To light the place, lanterns, torches, and candles flickered side by side. Lanterns sat on tall wooden poles much like the street lamps of London. Torches were placed embedded on the stone walls in all nooks. Candles, the wax pressed down to hold them into place, trailed along the railing of the boardwalk.

A worn wooden door, rotted with holes, was open ajar pouring drunken shouts onto the pathway. The pirate cove smelled of rum, though other scents fogged the air. Peter passed the sharp, burning smell of gunpowder, and then the sweet, intoxicating aroma of an old wine. Voices trailed every which way, surrounding Peter.

The boy looked odd among the burly pirates and the skinny saps. Peter still had the build of a boy, the ageing yet to take hold of him. He walked on, shoulders as straightened and broad as he could muster. He strode with a certain air of dignity, not realizing that pirates of these kinds never had such prowess.

Peter concentrated on his mission: join a crew. Of course, though with this boy there were bound to be things along the way to distract him; and so there was.

He paused at the open door of a pub. The rum's stench came thick and musty from the inside. Peter rested a curious gaze inside. A fairly burly pair of pirates, dressed in sagging rags stood at the edge of the serving bar. One of them threw his arms into the air in a rallying motion.

"EH! Let's fish out the best one of the lot! The daily drinkin' contest begins! Who's up for a round?" His words were already slurred slightly. His belly stuck out from under a shirt just a bit small in size for the man. Never minding the foolishness of this man, the others listened with a strange attentiveness.

"Ay! Who's wants to join eh?" a pirate shouted. Voices rose, shouting their interest in participation. There were three of them so far that had stumbled over to the bar. "Oy. Come on boys! A few more now!" the pirate who had announced the event, peered around. His wide, blank eyes scanned the crowd.

To Peter's intrigue, the man's gaze settled on him. "Ow bout you eh little man? Looks like you could use some ruffin up. Come on over! It's a competition mate! Win, and earn da respect of all!" the pirate said.

Peter smirked, an anxious mischief stirred in him. He found, to his delight, that this was much like the spitting contests. Peter had always been able to spit the farthest; therefore he was always the leader. Another competition wouldn't hurt. How hard could it be to drink the most? Peter had once downed the dreadful medicine given to him be Wendy. Rum couldn't possibly taste any worse. If he won he'd be respected, and of course above all, this is what the boy craved. He was always the leader, and now this was his chance to prove it.

He strode to the bar passing the other drunken pirates, who then all cheered for him. Peter faced the other three men, readying himself. He peered up at the pirates. They were much taller than him, and could likely beat him senseless in one whack, but this did not even bother Peter in the slightest. For his bravery and willingness overpowered any feeling of fear or even common sense at times. He was Peter Pan, and he would beat them all.

Thick rimmed, grimy glasses filled with rum were set on the bar. All the men grabbed theirs, and Peter had to stand on his toes in order to retrieve his. Peter nearly grimaced in disgust. The stingy dark liquid smelled like death. However, nothing not even the smell of the stuff could cause Peter to reconsider. He scarce reconsidered anything. "On your mark…" a man began. There was a short pause. "DRINK!" he shouted. Pirates in the candle lit pub cheered and screamed, displaying some wild interest in the contest. Some even stood, jumping up and down like mad men.

"Drink!" they chanted. "Drink… Drink… Drink!"

Peter threw his head back, and chugged. He poured the substance down his throat, and forcibly swallowed in huge gulps. The rum ravaged his throat, burning like seething coals. Tears gathered at the corner of his eyes. Sweat broke from his brow. Runoff spilled down his chin, his neck, and down onto his white ruffled shirt. He gulped in inhaling gasps again and again. It burned and hurt but he did not stop. He was going to win.

Peter stared at the bottom of the glass. He could see the glass! He was almost done! In one final chug he finished the drink off. He swallowed and stopped, panting. During this rush, Peter had forgotten to breathe. He slammed his mug down on the bar counter with a great clang. "Ha HA!" he shouted, ecstatic. "I win!"

A chorus of cheers erupted from the crowd of pirates. "The new champion!" they shouted.

"That kid beat the lot of them!" another yelled.

The pirate beside Peter, who had also been in the contest, slapped the boy on the back in a forceful whack. Peter would have stumbled forward and crashed on the ground, had he not caught himself on the bar side. "Nice job, kid! Say… what's your name?" the man asked.

"P-" Peter started but halted. His sense panged in for a moment."My name is…" he thought for a moment. "Kieron. My name is Kieron." He said, triumphantly. He had chosen an old Indian word from the language of the natives on Neverland. It meant "valiant one." Of course Peter, thinking of himself as highly valiant, thought this name fit perfectly.

Thinking nothing of Peter's pause before giving his name, the pirate nodded. "Well, Kieron, you're worthy in my book! A man who can drink like that is somethin' special. Say, who's ship you on? The way your clothes look, you seem like a right hand man to somebody eh? You one of Kimorak's boys?" Peter just shook his head.

"I was looking for a crew to join." Inside, Peter's mind was ticking away at a fake story. He was quite talented at this. Whenever he left his crew for adventures of his own on Neverland, he would come back with great tales. Peter would greatly exaggerate a battle with a pirate, or an encounter with a beast. His stories were believable though they were taken to great heights. His charm and magic that he seemed to control could persuade anyone. So, here he quickly formed a tale of his own; a tale of the pirate boy, Kieron.

"Really?" the pirate inquired.

"Ah, yes." Peter began. His tone altered into a pirate tongue. Though, this was not all by will. The rum was beginning to stir in his empty belly. With wits and talent of a master in deceit, Peter conjured a story right from the thin air. "I was sailing from the west when a squall hit me. A nasty one it was! My ship was eaten up by the ocean. She was a beauty. I called her the 'Black Paradise.' Oh yes, she was a beauty. My crew was small, but they were loyal to me. So now I come again to Crow's harbor to find a captain to take me as a crew member. I know the ropes of a ship… shouldn't be hard to find someone. Say! Do you know of any of these scallywag captains looking for a man?"

The pirate laughed a drunken slur of hearty bellowing. Rum rolled from his breath like a fog. "Well aren't you a lucky one! That Captain Morquin is looking for a regular right hand man! I figure a kid like you will do him well. I'll take you to him. Ha, I may get on a good side of that crazy old man if I bring in such a fine lad."

"Yesyes." Peter nodded. His words came from him in a voice thick with unawareness. The world was slipping, sliding. The pulling numbness effect of the rum swallowed him whole. His stomach jolted, the dark liquid swimming within him. A foul taste lingered in his throat from the pirate's drink. His mouth became dry, his eyes watered. Musty smells and dim light faded, glowering in brightly through his vision, then dimming into almost blackness. He felt like he was swaying on water, a rolling tide below him. Suddenly solid ground slithered. In a kind of silly ecstatic manner Peter opened his mouth to say something, most likely something of nonsense, until he dropped to the floor. Face first he had fallen onto the gritty floor.

"Poor kid. Can't hold his rum."

* * *

Captain Morquin looked at the boy, inspecting him. His eyes scrutinized Peter in a kind of delighted, almost giddy way. The pirate captain's rough exterior deceived upon initial impressions. He was brutal looking, his large waist, burly toned arms, and half shaven face displaying only ruthlessness. Morquin was quite robust. In his expression though, there was only a kind of kindness that was odd for a pirate.

The captain let out a hearty laugh. He slapped his knee and slumped slightly in his chair. "HA ha ha… oh this is rich!" he bellowed, wiping a tear from his eye. "You say you can be my right hand man eh? Well then tell me boy, what is your name?"

Peter instinctively stood a tad straighter, broadening his shoulders as best he could. He did not particularly appreciate being laughed at. "Kieron." He answered boldly. "Kieron, former captain of the 'Black Paradise.'"

"I see," answered Morquin. "Well, you seem like a good, strong lad. My loyal mate Newkon recommended you. Says he met you in the pub at Crow's Harbor." Morquin leaned back in his chair, propping his booted feet onto his finely finished wooden desk. An empty rum bottle sat atop the desk along with a few maps, some cigars, a shell paperweight, and a lantern. The cabin smelled of rum and dim unclean lantern oil, splayed in mix with the salty dampness of ocean water. The room was lit well through the sunlight spilling windows on the north wall. The endless Neverland horizon stretched outside the glass panels.

"Yes." Peter replied simply. Not once yet had he said "sir," or "captain," as was formally required of crew members below the captain rank. This intrigued Morquin in a way. He was interested in this clever looking boy.

Peter already had the signature appearance of a true pirate; his locks in a tangle, eyes lazily peering about from the affects of rum, white ruffled shirt covered in stains so that it appeared a cream shade, even the scuffled boots. Peter's stance was that of utmost disinterest. Normally, he fought these fiends, but now he was here answering boring questions. This captain served no purpose to him other than giving him a place to stay for not more than a week. Peter would grow, and then when the time was right, he would disappear to the island again.

"Hm. I like you already. You look like a steady lad. I assume you wouldn't take nonsense from the crew eh?"

Peter scoffed. "Absolutely not. I'm better than all of them." He said simply. Morquin laughed again at this.

"Alright, one final thing. Tell me Kieron, are you literate?"

Peter paused for a moment, his expression changing ever so slightly. For just a moment it seemed that a tinge of fear flicked him. Though this did not last, for Peter had no fear. However, there was most definitely an issue here. Peter did not know the meaning of "literate." A flying boy that dominated the Neverland island really had no way of knowing such a thing, lest Wendy teach him. The mystical boy pondered for a moment, his hand casually scratching the back of his head. Well, it couldn't possibly mean anything bad could it? In fact, Peter quite liked the sound of the word. Literate. Peter assigned it a certain prestige by his own mind. Why, of course he was literate! Whatever that meant. It sounded fine enough, therefore it was worthy of being a word to describe Peter Pan.

"Why, yes. Yes, I am literate." Peter answered finally. He smirked, a childish ignorance glowing on him.

Morquin simply nodded absently, still leaning in his plush chair. "Good. Very good." He said. "You'll do fine as a right hand man."

So, here it was settled. The Neverland boy in his guise had infiltrated the very society of piracy that he fought so often. Indeed it was a very serious task, staying with the pirates, but to Peter it was one of his games. Playing the role of a former captain, though just a boy. Pirates were wonderful creatures to try and deceive. This would be great fun.

* * *

The ocean was serene, rolling under the bows of the "Red Vanquish." Thin, evening tides pushed lightly against the ship's sides. The sun was setting, sending glimmers of orange and red of all shades playing against the sky. An endless, fathomless ocean stretched on with the horizon. A true Neverland star sunset was unlike any other. The sky made a show of its colors, displaying them in long stretches across a dimming blue sky, each stroke reflecting from the waters. The colors would dim and the night would come on swiftly, covering the sky with a soft blackness.

Peter sat, legs dangling, on the edge of the ship's starboard side. The wooden railing was thick enough so as to support him. The deck was quiet, only a few pirates murmuring quietly as the loitered. Peter was part of this crew now. Perhaps not a deckhand or a swabber, but just a bit higher rank. He would still sweat and toil along with the rest of the pirates to raise the sails and load the cannons. Peter sighed softly, nearly inaudibly. The faint laughter and roaring of drunken pirates lingered below deck, barely coming over the swaying of the waters.

Peter carefully, with delicate fingers, pulled out his Pan pipes from a leather satchel at his side. He ran his fingers over the smooth combination of bamboo and wood pipes lined up in a row from longest to shortest. The carefully hollowed holes in the pipes were perfect, tiny circles. Slowly he put the instrument to his mouth, placing his fingers on the holes. He felt a small twinge of yearning for his island, his home, his Wendy.

He let a sigh of air into the pipes, and the notes flowed out clear and smooth. Peter began to play a steady ripple of notes and soon the melody began.

* * *

The music was soft, the essence of it sounding as a part of nature itself. It was scarcely louder than the thin rustle of leaves in the forest, but Wendy heard it. She stood slowly from her crouching position near the berry bush. The Darling girl gazed in awe at nothing in particular, just a mere expression of her sudden interest. Her woven basket slipped from her hands and landed on the mossy, snow dusted ground, spilling plump red berries.

The music seemed to call to the island, the trees, the flowers. It called to her. She had risen from her task as if pulled secretly by a nameless voice. Though, it was not nameless.

Peter. It was Peter. She knew it was.

He was playing a forest melody for her. The soft drawn notes drifted through the island like a breeze from the sea. A soft smile formed on Wendy's lips, a slow relief running through her. Though she had hidden it from John, Michael, and even Dawn, Wendy had been worried about her love. He was off in the world of pirates with danger surrounding him in every nook and crook on those ships. In fact, to be so brutally honest, Wendy wasn't quite sure that Peter had even made the sailing journey there over the ocean. Of course though, now she thought it silly to doubt Peter.

Wendy stood still under the forest shade all through the evening as the sun set on a winter gripped Neverland. The music brought a summer wind through the cold as Peter's magic graced it. Wendy could almost smell the sweet, sticky honeysuckles and the fresh flowers in bloom. For just a moment everything seemed as it had been before and winter was no longer there. Just for a moment though. Wendy stood content and smiling in the evening until the sun disappeared and the music faded to a stop.

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! What will happen as Peter gets deeper into pirate society? What happens when he comes face to face with Scarcosta? Could it blow his clever disguise? Please review. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Welcome again! Well, this chapter... I must say... is quite a drawn out conflict that concentrates only on Peter. I am sure some of you were wondering when he was going to encounter Scarcosta. Here it is then. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan. However I do own the plot, Scarcosta, and Morquin. **

It was upon the fourth day on Captain Morquin's ship that Peter's encounter with Scarcosta came to a close call. Hesitation flickered over his maturing features for just a moment. His lips pulled at the corner ever so slightly before breaking into a wide, wry, trademark mischievous grin. The smile held more allure now, a touch of young man held within. He was a bit taller now, it was not that Peter had measured or knew how to do so; it was that he had judged himself against the other pirates. Now he reached the shoulders of some of them. There were no mirrors on the ship, save for the gold rimmed one in the captain's quarters, for pirates hardly cared for appearances. Thus, Peter had no knowledge of his slightly changed facial features. No matter the changes though, Peter would always hold the same glint of childishness that was brighter in the eternal boy than in anyone else.

"Well, of course I am coming, Morquin. I'd love to meet the captain of the 'Vixen's Revenge.' Rosaline did you say her name was?" he inquired. Peter had learned and acquired a certain modified pirate speak to use with the captain. The boy had always adored playing parts, and this was his favorite yet. Acting as a real, educated gentlemen pirate; a right hand man to the captain himself. Of course, Peter would prefer to be the captain, but for this purpose being the second in command was fine enough. This was not to say though, that Peter had lost the cockiness that came in line with his ego. Risks were his specialty, and meeting with Scarcosta again was a fairly large one. There was a broad chance that she could be able to recognize him. From experience Peter knew that this particular female captain could scarce be outwitted. She was not such a passenger to anger and annoyance as Hook. Rosaline could maintain composer long enough to think before rash actions. Still, at this broad chance, Peter was eager to leap into danger.

"Aye. Rosaline is her name, although she doesn't fancy being called that. I myself called her 'Rose' once and she got her britches in a tangle over it. Nearly tore my arm off! Well, I was hoping you would want to go. I could use a lad like you to impress her. Says she was to 'negotiate' something. An invasion, she says. Honestly, sometimes I has it set in my mind that woman is crazy." Morquin drawled. He grasped a thick, silver wine cup in his hand. He swirled the blood red contents for a few moments, before taking a gulp. "Alright then. We'll be headed on out soon. Just need to dock the ship at Crow's Harbor. We'll be meeting on her ship. Should be interesting."

* * *

For a wild moment Rosaline reconsidered her plans. Confusion twisted over her face, her mouth contorting into a leaning frown on her lips. Her cabin was set for the meeting, a broad red wood table set in the center of her large room, a plush red velvet chair on either end. A glimmering bottle of sweet wine and two fine curved glasses waited in the center of the table. The cabin was lit by lanterns placed in nooks along the wood paneled walls. A few plain wax candles offered more light on the table near the wine. The place was a faint glow of orange that seemed bright against the dim midnight sky that lingered outside the circular windows dotted along the west wall.

Slowly Rosaline's features became blank, then a smear of prowess scowled on her face. A professional in the ways of appearing of the nature of power, Rosaline composed herself, her shoulders held broad but relaxed. She had been taught by her father to appear at ease and completely in command of her domain. Strategically she had chosen her cabin to host the meeting with Morquin, in order to display her position.

The wooden door of the cabin opened quietly without so much as a creek. Rosaline Scarcosta smiled, her lips curving into something devious. She had oiled the door to be sure it wouldn't creek. The captain didn't want to appear dingy, and it was the smallest details that counted.

"Hello, Morquin." She greeted, unenthusiastically though you could hear the hint of her smile in her words.

The burly captain of the "Red Vanquish," sauntered in with his particularly laid back manner. "Well, hello there Scarcosta." He replied. Rosaline couldn't help the pang of ease she felt. He was alone. This was utterly fantastic. Alone, and with wine, this man would be even easier to manipulate into joining her.

Her ease suddenly vanished at the sight of a hand pressing on the door as it opened again. A thin arm came into view, then his face. Scarcosta scowled harshly. Her right hand clenched into a fist where it was rested against her thigh as she sat in her velvet chair.

A right hand man? Morquin had never had such a thing!

"Oh, and who may I ask is this fine young man?" she inquired, not a hint of her distain lingering behind her words.

Morquin smiled lightly as he settled into the other chair opposite of Rosaline. "Why this is Kieron. My right hand man. You know he came in from the west! Yes, and a squall tore his ship and crew. Lucky for me this lad was looking for a job in a crew."

"I see." Rosaline answered blankly. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the boy. He appeared a bit young for a former captain… and that name. She was sure she had heard it before. An old Indian word it was. She was sure of it. Of the many days she had spent on the island with her John, she knew such things.

Though many would not guess from her sharp temper and quick responses, Rosaline was extremely inquisitive. Each thing she learned was stored away in her cavern of a mind and used later on. She was ingenious in her plans and intricate in her schemes. She could even be considered similar to Hook himself, if only she was a little more coldhearted. Unlike Hook though, Rosaline did not consume her every waking and slumbering moment with Peter Pan. She maintained her sanity simply with her plans, soon to be revealed to Morquin.

Peter could feel her intense stare like a flame on his skin. A tinge of nervousness slithered up through his frame. However, this did not last for more than a moment. Peter Pan was never nervous. He feared no one's stare.

Peter's shoulders instinctively straightened. His eyes flickered to Rosaline for a moment, a devious flash of mild interest, and then to Morquin. He had been instructed not to sit. Right hand men didn't sit. At this, Peter took a position behind Morquin's plush chair.

Rosaline began by reaching out and pouring the fresh, cool wine into the glasses and sliding one to Morquin. The woman leaned slightly forward as she sat, her elbows rested on the table, her chin resting on her entwined fingers.

"Well, Morquin. I assume you will take this offer I am about to give, and I assure you it is well worth the take." She began.

Morquin took a hearty sip of his drink and sat back. "Mmm… an offer? Let's hear it then."

"Very well. I take it that you heard of John Kimorak's death. It spread wide over Crow's harbor."

"Of course. Fine lad. A bit strange though, always hanging round that island and making friends with the savages. Heh. Hook took quite a dislike to that lad. Said he was always in the way making it difficult to get to Pan."

"Yes." Rosaline's voice was a dark void. It seemed to hold no layered emotion, but in its blankness was a black grief that peeked out from under her straight tone. She must speak of her lover as if he was of no particular interest except to open the topic of the island. She must deny the grip of her heart that man always held, and stomp down her rising emotions; wash them away with her wine.

Peter peered on at Scarcosta, utterly disinterested. John Kimorak, he recalled, was that pirate he had killed on the beach instead of Hook. To the boy, that man was nothing more than another tick mark to his dagger. Peter, though he had forgotten, knew a secret about John Kimorak. Peter's eyes were a dim boredom. This conversation better get more interesting.

Rosaline, weary of Morquin's "right hand man," continued her conversation. "Well, Kimorak left behind a box in which I have in my possession. I recovered it on the island after making a deal with the Indians. I gave them my word that an Indian John had been friends with would not be harmed if he helped me recover the box-"

"Aye! You left him unharmed did you?! Making friends with those savages?" Morquin accused, appalled.

"It was part of the plan, Morquin." Rosaline said through her teeth. "I would appreciate it if you did not interrupt me. Well, from this I gained a sort of half trusting relation with the chief. His tribe member was not harmed and was returned safely just as I said he would be. This lowers suspicion of me as a pirate, therefore making infiltrating the island all the more smooth."

"Ah. So this is your plan eh? Claiming the island? Well, I don't agree Rosaline. This entire thing sounds like a Hook maneuver to me. That stingy man got himself killed, he did! He was even a genius and he got taken down by that boy Peter Pan!"

Rosaline placed her palms on the table and thrust herself up. Her chair slid back with a great screech across the wood floor. "Do not call me Rosaline! Now if you would kindly shut your babbling trap, I would be able to tell you what was in it for you! Tell me Morquin, what exactly do you plan to do with your fleet of ships, eh? We sit out here in the waters off shore of the island and age and die! For what?! Nothing at all. We rot out here with crews of drunken saps and hold tight to our pieces of gold and it's all for nothing. We leave no legacy behind because that boy will always kill us and demean us and undermine us! We have the power to take the island, and it starts with us! We are the strongest of the captains. We can take that island and never age another day. That infernal boy will die and we will be the new heart and soul of what they call 'Neverland!'" Her eyes were a blazing green, intense with her pale face and dark hair outlining them.

Morquin's eyes were wide, his expression that of dim shock. He had always known Rosaline to have a harsh temper, but had never heard her raise her voice to such a commanding octave. Her ideas were simply outlandish! To overtake the island! No one had ever attempted such a thing. The pirates and the island had always been a separate thing, keeping between them a balance of conflict in which the boy Peter Pan always triumphed.

"Ha. Ha! Oh, Scarcosta you are quite the dreamer. Truly I have no response. What would I say to such a plan?"

"You will say yes." Rosaline stated as if it was pure fact. Her frame had relaxed, the tension in her arms gone, though they still gripped the edge of the table. Her calm commanding demeanor, she had realized, had been stripped away when she went into her fit. She took a breath and began to plaster back her typical face.

"Oh, I will say yes? Really? I truly have no idea. Kieron. What do you take from all this, eh lad?" Moquin asked, turning in his chair to face the boy.

Peter had been uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes darted about for a moment before they settled straight on Scarcosta's. He smirked, a small laugh escaping him. This was fantastic. He knew of an invasion to his island and could now alter the circumstances.

"It's a great idea." He answered, smiling. His gaze met with Scarcosta's and locked there for a moment, as she scrutinized him.

Suddenly, with absolute horror, the female captain's eyes widened until all white was shown and then they narrowed as her brows creased. Her expression was indescribable. The shear, raw fury on her face was wonderful to Peter. His smirk broke as he laughed wildly, his childish laugh just a bit deeper than a few days ago. He smoothed his black pirate coat, adorned with gold buttons. Peter ruffled his white shirt and crossed his arms at his chest. His stance became smooth and lopsided as he leaned his weight slightly to his left foot.

"Recognize me, codfish?" he drawled teasingly. "Heh. I knew a secret about that John of yours." Yes, he had remebered. Perfect for the boy, he'd tease her indefinitely with it.

Rosaline's fury rose into an uncontainable impulse. In a flash quickness, her arm dropped to her right side and clasped her pistol. She pointed its barrel straight at the disguised boy, her finger poised on the trigger. "Pan." She spat, her face twisted in anger.

* * *

The shot rang out in a perfect pulse. Rosaline knew she had made her mark. A grin crossed her face, though only for a moment. It was swiped away by a gaping mouth as she stood shocked at the sight.

The shot had hit alright. Fatal to the captain of the "Red Vanquish."

Square between the brows it had hit him. Crimson blood dripped, sliding down the man's face. It slithered past his wide, shocked, dead eyes. Morquin slumped forward, his head crashing into the red wood table. The wine bottle swayed before falling, spilling the liquid across the table.

Rosaline stumbled back, her fury breaking beyond her walls of sanity. The woman screeched. Not because she had just killed Morquin and nearly ruined her plans, but because Pan was nowhere to be found.

**I hope you like it! What will happen now? Will Peter reveal the secret? Please review with thoughts if you wish. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello all! I am terribly sorry that this chapter took so long! I was caught up with things and I was made aware by a wonderful reviewer that I had not update in three months. How shameful of me. I hope you enjoy this!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with the original Peter Pan. **

The wind lifted, its whistle against the thick fabric of the drawn sails growing menacingly louder. The "Red Vanquish" was deprived of leadership, with Morquin having been murdered by Scarcosta in her fit of rage against Pan.

Peter drew the collar up on his black pirate coat, and glamorously adjusted its cufflinks on the sleeves. He stood in a lopsided stance on the elevated portion of the great ship, one hand settling on the wooden steering wheel of the ship. He surveyed the chaotic deck below with a quick glance through his ruffled locks.

Many members of the crew were slouching around about the stingy, un kept deck guzzling from their bottles of rum. Their disoriented shouts and sing song nonsensical words reached Peter in a muffled and faded jabber.

The Neverland dawn was approaching, its spires of light beginning to pierce the blackness of night and subdue the stars.

Peter, being the boy he was, had promoted himself to captain of the ship. Now the crew of the "Red Vanquish" was uninformed at the moment that their former captain had been murdered. Why of course it made perfect sense that Peter as the right hand man would take the place of the late Morquin, but pirates aren't ones to take kindly to sense and logic and Peter knew this. For this reason and that Peter was not quite gifted with logical explanations, he chose his first words as captain accordingly.

Peter cleared his throat for dramatic effect, although it was not heard to the pleasure of anyone but himself. "All right you maggots!" he bellowed, adopting his fantastic imitation of Hook's voice. "This is your captain speaking. We'll be heading out to the Neverland mainland. So get off your lazy bums and hoist the sails! You there, swab the deck! Pull up the anchor! Get on with it!"

To his utter delight the crew set to work immediately, none questioning the newcomer of a captain. This is not to say there wasn't any inquiry as to what Peter was doing as the captain.

Peter gave a childish frown when the second mate approached him. The lad was an intelligent one. What the blond lacked in physical drive he made up for in genius. Peter had become acquainted with this fellow at some time or another, but for the life of him, Peter had no recollection of his name.

"Kieron, what the bloody hell are you doing ordering the crew around? Where is Morquin by the way? He owes me my gold pieces for hustling that last target ship for its emeralds." The second mate said. The boy was not much older than Peter. He stood on thin stilts of legs that supported his equally as thin frame. He didn't appear quite as foul smelling as the other pirates due to the cleanliness of his clothes and boots. Occasionally the second mate, just a rank below the right hand man, accompanies the captain and therefore looks slightly more presentable. Of course presentable in a society of piracy is much more dingy than in any other society standard. So the second mate still had patches on his trousers and stains o his white ruffled shirt. His long, curly blond hair was pulled back into a single braid that ran down between his shoulder blades.

Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Morquin, that poor bastard. He's dead. Killed by that bloody woman Scarcosta."

The second mate raised a brow. "Right, and what gave you rights to be captain eh?" the boy took a threatening step forward, a direct challenge to Peter.

A wry, devious smirk spread across Peter's lips. "Why this hat of course!" he said enthusiastically gesturing to the red feathered hat atop his head of uncombed locks. Peter shrugged. "… but it's a piece of junk, really. I took it off that old man Morquin." He swiped the hat off his head and tossed it aside with a flick of his wrist as if to put on a show of being superior. He faked the snooty air of one that is arrogant as they come, and Peter loved it.

"A hat!" the second mate scoffed. "You don't have the guts to-"

The poor boy was cut off abruptly when the sharp cold of a dagger pressed firm against his Adam's apple. The air was still chill from the night; the rising sun had not yet driven the heat to soak up the cool of night, but the pirate mate was sweating like a wild boar in summer. Peter had to rise a bit on his toes to meet neck level with the second mate that had dared to cross the new captain of the "Red Vanquish."

Peter expertly held the dagger against the boy's throat. He pressed ever so gently more into the tender skin of his neck. The blade drew a bead of blood and the crimson drop rolled down the length of the boy's neck, invading his white shirt. The boy was standing stick straight and still as possible despite his apparent trembling and utter terror.

Peter drew his face close against the boy's. He put his smirking lips to the second mate's ear. "I've got the guts to kill you right here and now." He whispered. The flying boy had to refrain from giggling with giddy joy. His pirate façade was perfection.

Deceitful and quick thinking as he was though, Peter had not counted on the boy having a dagger of his own.

The sun was high now, the morning haze lingering over the still dull colored ocean. In that sun, from the corner of his eye, Peter saw the glint of steel as the second mate unsheathed his dagger.

In one swift dodge attempt, Peter leapt up into the air, whirling around and behind the boy. As a result the pirate slashed the air.

Bewildered, he blinked and spin on his heel to meet Peter's gaze behind him. No doubt he had seen the right hand man called Kieron fly. "P-p-peter P-p-pa-" Peter's hand shut the pirate's mouth.

Peter gave an exasperated sigh. "I was going to kill you anyway, but now you're giving me a reason. We can't have those pirates knowing who I am can we?"

It only took one thrust to a spot in the back of the pirate boy to kill him. The blood came first from the second mate's mouth as he hacked up a pool of crimson as his dying sound. The boy took a dive straight forward, thumping onto the wooden deck of the ship with a solid sounding racket.

Peter retrieved his dagger from the boy's flesh. He was captain of this ship, and no one was going to change that. He was going home, to Wendy.

* * *

The first signs of trouble came from the birds. A roaring storm was about in the sky, lurking toward Neverland in a rage of wind and water. It was a summer storm, and it was the reason Wendy knew Peter was coming. Peter's absence from the island had let winter set in as the boy's magic controlled the weather. The clouds inched in, settling above the island and darkening the morning sky. The Neverland birds flocked inland toward the dense trees and shelter, away from the choppy sea. Wendy, Dawn, Michael, and John watched as the island quieted around them, only the winds in the leaves making a sound.

"A storm?" John wondered aloud. The temporary leader of the gang adjusted his spectacles along the bridge of his nose. He peered into the sky, pondering the preparations that would need to be made to the underground hideout.

"Peter." Wendy whispered. Her voice was soft and low, but nothing could hinder the rising excitement in her tone. Her azure irises sparkled in delight, igniting the childish spark in them.

Sprinkles of rain began to fall, light and fine. John frowned as he looked at the growing cloud masses.

"Dawn," he spoke in his command voice. "Go underground and patch up every inch of the roof underside with the strips of wood we collected. Michael, please assist her. Wendy and I are going to speak with the Indians."

Dawn and Michael nodded to each other and hurried off, disappearing in the thick of the forest.

Wendy flashed a questioning glance. "Peter's coming, there is no need to worry John." She insisted in a mixed tone of annoyance and forced politeness. Her mind skipped immediately to the question of how John could possibly distrust that Peter would keep them safe.

"No Wendy, there is a reason to worry." John's voice was directed at Wendy but he did not look at her. He did not see the green lush of a damp forest before him through his glasses. He saw only the coming danger as he envisioned the invasion he knew had been inevitable since Peter had left the island. "There is a reason to worry because I can smell the rum from here. The pirates are coming."

* * *

Captain Rosaline Scarcosta had never been one to act on rash decisions. However, today was quite different. She fingered the grip of the sheathed long sword at her side in anxiousness. Yes, this was it. Pan had foiled her plans. Morquin was dead, and she knew that Peter must have taken his position as captain. Her deductions on Peter were extremely accurate, and if she was correct on her new plan, Pan's blood would soon be on her hands and she would taste the sweet of revenge. Now the captain fingered the gun at her side. She pondered with a scarcely hidden evilness what weapon she might kill him with. Scarcosta even considered killing Peter with his own dagger; the very weapon that had taken the life of her lover.

The air rustling through the open window in her cabin was thick with moisture; surely a sign of the rains to come.

"Peter. That flying piece of rubbish, that murderer, that ignorant child! I'll kill him as Hook failed to do." Rosaline spat. Of course she couldn't help but wonder why Peter had been Morquin's right hand man. Indeed she had thought on this for quite a while and settled on the notion that Peter might have just wanted to torment her or infiltrate Crow's harbor. Either way he now had a ship full of pirates, the very creatures he loved to kill. He would no doubt return to the island soon, for being out upon the sea near Crow's Harbor meant you grew old.

The "Vixen's Revenge" buckled starboard, thrashed by the rough ocean that came along with a storm. Rosaline steadied herself with grace, an instinct learned by pirates. She sat down at her wooden desk, the cabin only lit by a circle of light from a kerosene lantern and the dim remainder of morning outside shrouded by storm clouds. Her thin fingers traced along the fragile sides of a map. Scarcosta gazed down at the map of Neverland she had obtained from the box her John had hidden.

Gripping a fine pointed feather pen in between her forefinger and thumb, she dipped the tip into a bottle of red ink. Carefully with light strokes, she made out the path to take over the island.

The ship jostled, lurching to a stop against the coast of the island just as Scarcosta had finished her mapping. Muffled shouts of "Land ahoy!" came from the deck above.

Scarcosta adjusted her weapons at her side and made certain to grab her crimson coat as she walked out. A smirk played on her face.

As the captain arrived on deck, the place was buzzing with anticipation. Pirates filled canteens with rum, and loaded their guns. The steady, harsh "click click" of a loaded and cocked pistol came from all directions. They stumbled about, drawling on about how they were looking forward to skinning another savage.

"Onward to Neverland!" Scarcosta shouted. The drunken cheers rose from the deck in huge bellows. "This is war."

* * *

The Indian encampment still had the dim sleepiness of early morning in its smoky air. Wendy and John stood before Tiger Lilly. The Indian princess cocked her head slightly at John, a signal of question. The presence of the Darling children was not a familiar event. Tiger Lilly's eyes scrutinized John's features and instantly her face was troubled with concern. She sensed in John's expression the timid worry. She understood right away what they must be here for.

She leaned forward and grasped John's hand, pulling at him. "Come," she said, her accent thick, her voice low. "You'll see father now."

John took a light glance at his hand in Tiger Lilly's and the warmth crept to his face. The Indian girl had a magic like Peter's, and the desire welled in John Darling fast as a fairy in flight. He stumbled along behind Tiger Lilly as she pulled him toward a tent in the center of the camp. Wendy followed along behind, internally scoffing at her brother for being so drawn by a pretty face.

Tiger Lilly threw back the leather flap door of the large tent with hurried force. The three huddled inside, forced to bow their heads to enter the low lying doorway. The inside of the leather bound tent was decorated with feathers hanging on leather string, circling the cone shape of the tent. A small fire burned in the center, the smoke escaping through a hole at the top of the leather home. The place was quite big; large enough for many people to circle around the fire.

Wendy and John immediately bowed in respect to the burly figure sitting opposite them across the fire. "Peter has left, but he is returning. The summer rains he is bringing will be nice for the crops. Tell me miss Wendy why did he leave?" the chief asked. His demeanor was more serious now, his presence heavy with leader status. The chief was not jolly as he was the night the Darling children, Peter, and Dawn had visited and Scarcosta had interrupted the dance around the fire.

Wendy bowed her head. A stab of selfishness invaded her. She knew Peter had done it for her because she had grown older. She knew that he insisted on growing just enough for her, and now pirates were coming and Peter was not here. His magic fueled the fighting will and strength in the Indians as well as in his gang. His cocky grin always triumphed over the fiercest foe. Wendy and John knew Peter was returning, but the pirates were already here. Like many heroes, Peter always made it in time. The instant Wendy had leapt off the plank of Captain Hook's ship and was staring into the massive jaws of the ticking crocodile, Peter had swooped just at the right moment and caught Wendy. Peter was always on time because he was magical. He had the golden lust of childhood in him. However, Wendy and John worried still. Peter had no doubt grown since he left the island and with age magic deteriorates. Would he have the amount to make it in time just as he always did? Peter's lesson to his gang was always faith. Faith, trust and pixie dust! How could they not have faith in Peter now? Peter's charm was the faith that lasted through dangerous adventures, and he was still far from the island and his faith was scarce.

"He left to grow for me." Wendy whispered finally.

The chief nodded, and flashed an understanding look at the Darling girl. "One of my lookouts told me that Scarcosta's ship had just reached land. We must fight to keep this island safe." The chief glanced at John. "Tell me John, does that Dawn girl know how to fire a bow and arrow?" he asked.

John smirked. "Yes," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Wonderful. Do I have your permission to place her in battle? I can only assume that you have the leadership role when Peter is away. If you grant me the honor, Dawn will fire arrows from the hideouts in the trees along the coast alongside my men." The chief offered.

John swallowed. He pondered for a moment. Dawn was skilled, but the very idea of her on the front lines sent a pang of fear through him. As well rounded and intelligent as he was, John had no idea that this feeling was affection. He only viewed this as an unexplained fear that Dawn might be hurt.

Tiger Lilly, who had not spoken a word since arriving in the tent, looked at John. "Dawn, let her fight. I've seen her eyes. She looks like the panther. Strong and willful. Father, I will also take the front lines in the trees. I will fight alongside Dawn. John… you can trust me to keep her safe?"

John, the appearance of shock on his features, nodded. He gave a smile. "I trust you."

"Good, good." The chief nodded in approval. "Now Wendy, let's get you a sword."

**Oh dear. Peter is quite violent isn't he? Well pirates are no matter for him. What happens next? Will Peter make it to the island in time before Scarcosta launches a full attack? Wendy is going to fight?! I know... it seemed to me that Wendy wasn't really the fighting type but in this desperate situation will she be determined enough? Please review if you wish. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello all! Yes, the next chapter is here! I hope you enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan, Wendy, Michael, or John. **

The Neverland sky darkened as summer rain clouds began to mingle, casting dim shadows on the land below. Dawn ran her hand over the smoothed wood of her Indian crafted bow, and compulsively adjusted the strap that held her quiver full of arrows to her back. She waited, crouched behind the foliage surrounding a large tree, her gazed poised on the beach. The waters were rough, the ocean throwing hard, foaming waves at the beach. The air became misty, filled with the ever present moisture of the forest. A massive storm cloud loomed in on the horizon, no more than a half hour away from hitting the Neverland beach head on.

Dawn quickly glanced up into the tree branches above her, reluctant to take her anxious gaze from the beach. Tiger Lilly caught Dawn's glance, and nodded slowly. The Indian princess's perception was far greater than Dawn's, and she confirmed that the pirates were near. In that instant, Tiger Lilly whipped her head sharply to the right as she heard a clumsy footstep sound from the gathering of trees to the right of them. Just then, a pirate emerged from the forest, stepping onto the sand of the shore. Dawn drew a feathered arrow from her quiver, and carefully poised it on the string of the bow as she waited for Tiger Lilly's signal. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, her heartbeat rising to her throat. Taking a life was not a part of Dawn's resume of experience. However skilled she was at the bow and arrow, she had still been bred as a house maid and now her fear nearly overcame her.

Now two more scruffy pirates joined the first on the beach. They just stood as if they were awaiting command, pistols ready. Tiger Lilly nodded once more to Dawn, this one more urgent. Dawn took aim straight for a pirate's chest. The angle he stood at proved a perfect opportunity for a shot to kill. Staring at her intended mark, Dawn saw that her aim wavered with her shaking grip. Steadying her gaze on the pirate's torn blue shirt, she waited. Tiger Lilly signaled to the other archers hidden in various trees and foliage. Now the Indian girl held up her tanned arm.

There was a shout from one of the pirates as he noticed a bush rustle with movement. Tiger Lilly's arm went down; the signal to fire. Ten arrows shot out of the dense green of the forest, striking down the pirates before they had a moment to cock their guns. Dawn's arrow struck the pirate she aimed for, mid chest; exactly where it had been intended. She watched in a strange elated horror as he pitched backwards into the sand, the wound bleeding slowly through his indigo shirt. Struck dead in an instant.

The odd emotion of joy hit Dawn suddenly. An uncharacteristic, wry smile graced her mouth and she gave a silent cheer. This was the working of the Neverland magic. Taking a pirate's life was sheer amazement, infinitely intriguing. There was something dreadfully pleasing about striking down an opponent; the thrill of the danger.

* * *

When Peter spied his island in the sea, a smirk came upon his lips, and he would have fluttered about the ship had his crew not been busily preparing to make land. His appearance was altered from his time away from the island. His magic dulled, if only by the slightest amount. The look of eager happiness played about his features; that is until Peter saw the night black sails of the "Vixens's Revenge." His lips twisted in a childlike sneer, his hands groped for the spyglass at his side. His eye to the magnification device, Peter scanned the deck of Scarcosta's ship in one swift sweep.

"No. No, no no no no no!" He muttered. For Peter, pirates were the pawns of his endless game, the helpless enemy which was always utterly defeated by him. Now, as Scarcosta's men were nowhere to be found on her ship, the female captain was one play ahead of Peter, and he was losing fast.

It's a losing game if the pirates of the "Red Vanquish" and the "Vixen's Revenge" cross paths. In the pirate society only captains carry the burden of revenge, hate, and ultimate greed. Pirate captains compete for the lavish treasures to be found in ocean coves, and this is their legacy. Glimmering emeralds and gold pieces are the currency for trade, as well as the pathway to notoriety among captains; and notoriety and ruthlessness are most important to a pirate captain. However, the pirate crews are of a different breed. Raised on rum and minimal wages and accommodations, pirates of the ship crews do not seek such fortunes, only a life on the sea to drink away the nights. These pirates do not shoulder the hate captains must have against each other. Deck hands along with mates, only respect one another in a rum-driven labor union of sorts. Thus, it will be a losing game if the pirates of the two ships anchoring on Neverland island meet. Even if commanded, the crew members of the "Red Vanquish" will never attack the crew of the "Vixen's Revenge" for they are hindered by sheer home- bred respect.

Peter pondered on his options for a moment, considering bribing his crew to ambush Scarcosta's men. He shook his head violently from side to side, distrusting this logic. Scarcosta could bribe his crew to let her crew alone, perhaps even bribe Peter's men to join her cause. She would no doubt use Peter's tactics against him, and for this reason Peter decided upon another course of action.

Peter strolled down the deck with a deliberate air of superiority about him, the smile on his face a reflection of how pleased he was with his new found plan. He made his way to the starboard side of the ship where the lifeboats and jollyboats lay anchored in place with thick ropes. There were four boats lying upside down side by side. Wooden crafted oars sat in a disorderly pile near them. Peter grasped an oar with one hand and felt its weight. He walked over to the side of the great ship and drawing his arm back, prepared for the swing. Peter brought the oar down on the railing of the ship's starboard side, cracking the wooden steering device in two. The wood made a sharp sounding smack as it splintered, now broken and useless.

After checking to be sure there was no stir from the busy crew, Peter quickly destroyed the remaining oars, bashing them against the side railing. Finally, as he disposed of the last oar, a pirate of his crew approached him.

"Captain!" the pirate mate saluted. This pirate was a burly one. Tall, and built like a giant. He towered over Peter, and never the less he seemed scared to death of his captain.

Peter gave a small nod, and put on a false expression of stern annoyance. "Yes. What is it ya blubbering seadog? You should be busy preparing the sails, the anchor!" Peter shouted.

"Yes sir… but…what was the noise?" the pirate inquired nervously.

"Noise?" Peter questioned as he raised an eyebrow in mock interest.

"Yes sir. Sounded like wood crackin' sir!"

Peter shrugged, his black pirate jacket becoming distressed with the movement of his shoulders. "There was a rat. I took care of the bloody thing. Now get to work! We'll be making land soon. Don't waste my time with your nonsense or I'll send ye over board, understand?!"

The pirate nodded briskly before scurrying away. Peter smirked at the pirate's dirty back, finding joy in his own cleverness.

Peter turned back to the boats, unsheathing his dagger and making quick work of cutting through the rough ropes. One by one, Peter shot a clean hole through the bottom of each small boat. His shots rang through the air, and quickly Peter assured his crew that he was simply testing the quality of his pistol. Now, when no pirate had their attention at the starboard side of the ship, Peter rolled a boat onto its side and then once more over the edge of the ship into the water. He observed with keen satisfaction, the rapid manner in which the boat sank. Two more boats were tossed overboard, and Peter grunted as he heaved the final one into the sea.

The "Red Vanquish" was close to making land, and Peter knew it had to be now. With a brisk walk, Peter made his way to his cabin just below deck. He groped in the dim light of his quarters searching for his lantern and oil. He soon found the items and struck a match without hesitation to light the lantern. With anxious excitement, Peter popped open the cap of the oil bottle and poured its contents all over the wood floor of the cabin. The stench of the kerosene clouded the room, becoming nearly unbearable. Peter put his hand across his mouth and nose as they began to burn with the smell. He held the lantern high above his head and suddenly he let it drop. The glass of the lantern shattered against the north wall of the cabin. Orange flames leapt free from the broken lantern, and instantaneously spread along the floor, slithering along the kerosene soaked floor with deadly speed. The fire clawed against the walls, grasping onto and igniting curtains, maps, and the wood panels. The smoke now gathered at the ceiling, dimming the room.

Peter could feel the immense heat pressing on his body as sweat broke from his hairline. He fumbled toward the porthole window at the western wall of the cabin. Using the hilt of the sword at his side, Peter shattered the glass, breaking off the sharp edges around the window in order to make his way through. Discarding his sword among the flames close behind him, Peter glided out the small window.

The open, fresh air of the salty sea embraced his senses and he breathed in deeply. Turning his head, as he flew with expert straightness toward Neverland, Peter looked back on the ship. The flames had now spread to the mast above his cabin, coiling around the wood, engulfing it. The deck lit ablaze. The suffocating heat reached Peter in a dim sensation on his skin.

Panicked shouts, drunken and confused, came from the pirates. This aroused Peter's mischievous instincts, playing satisfaction on his face. Without the lifeboats and oars Peter destroyed, the pirates had no choice but to abandon ship or burn alive. The ship bobbed with the rough waves clashing against the deteriorating hull. The great sails of the ship erupted in the flames' light, the fire licking up the fabric, making it disappear in wavering smoke.

Peter did not hover around long enough to observe the painted name "Red Vanquish" vanish under the waves as the final burst of fire was washed over. His island was drawing him and his Wendy was waiting.

* * *

Wendy's nerves shot up with tangled anxiousness and constant fret. Her brothers stood before her clad in their weapons from head to toe. Each outfitted with a sword, dagger, loaded pistol and a considerable amount of pixie dust, the Darling boys burned with the strange eagerness that going into battle can propose. The three Darling children stood outside of the underground hideout in the dank forest. They lay in wait for John's orders.

Indian war paint on their cheeks and noses, John and Michael appeared as the Neverland boys they always played in the nursery. John, like an adult with his practical demeanor, appeared as a young man dressed as a soldier. Michael, in his still young age, appeared as a child acting as a warrior.

Wendy herself was prepared for battle, though she would rather not have been. Her proper woman mannerisms nearly overcame her childish glint, as practicality and sensibility thrust the glimmer of Neverland aside. An old emotion tugged her from far in the past, from far outside the Neverland star. In sudden fleeting memories, Wendy Darling saw her mother and father. Dressed as they always were, outfitted with the finest of clothing and jewelry; Mr. Darling in his classic tailored black suit, bowtie, and favored emerald cufflinks; Mrs. Darling in her lovely flowing gown, a necklace of pearls around her neck, flattering her modestly covered bosom. How much time had passed since the Darling children had flown out the window for a second time? The harsh memory of Peter's saddened features as Wendy informed him that she and her brothers were to leave for London came upon the Darling girl. For a disoriented moment Wendy considered doing that very same thing; leaving. In this sudden period of war, the danger to her family was higher than ever, and death was not absent on Neverland. Her reason spoke up. Her brothers could die. Oh, how easy it was for Peter to murder pirates! Could it be the same easy task for ruthless pirates to kill her brothers? Yes, yes, of course. This was Neverland! The danger, the fighting, the adventure! In conflicting emotions, Neverland appealed to Wendy as it did to anyone who had the childish glint of Peter Pan, but then it became a danger, a place without order. Wendy realized that her confliction was the ever present bitter taste on her tongue; the thought she attempted to push away because of her undeniable love for Peter.

"Wendy!" her brother's voice shattered her thoughts to bring her back.

"Yes Michael. What is it?" Wendy's voice did not waver, though her emotion was apparent in her features.

"John and I are going now. We'll be on the north side near the cliffs. You've got to meet with the Chief at the camp. Don't worry about us, Wendy. We'll be fine. Everything will be better when Peter gets back. We've just got to hold down the fort until he gets here!" Michael raised his sword into the air with a confident smile.

"Yes," Wendy whispered. She fingered the hilt of the sword at her side. "Hold down the fort."

* * *

Peter flew, with fleeting speed across the ocean. The waters were darkened by the clouds overhead. Peter's annoyance ran high as the Neverland island drew closer, as did the black sails of the "Vixen's Revenge."

Time had passed as it does on Neverland, not counted, nor kept track of.

Slowly Peter alighted on the still warm sands of the shore. There were no pirates of Scarcosta's crew to be seen, however the fresh footprints imprinted in the sand concerned Peter. This was the western portion of the island, fairly close in proximity to the underground hideout. A hidden rage rose within Peter as he realized that the footprints lead straight into the forest in the direction of his home.

Peter's gaze traced the footprints, following them to the edge of the forest.

* * *

Wendy jogged through the forest, her right hand rested on the hilt of her sword. For this occasion she had borrowed Indian made clothes, leather garments made for traveling quickly though dense trees. The Darling girl had been clumsy in her night gown, the long dress a hindrance to her steps. Now she wore a red dyed animal skin shirt and a pair of hand sewn pants, both of which fit her well, subtly outlining her womanly figure. Her Indian moccasins hardly a sound as she treaded along.

Wendy's breath came in quick, quiet gasps as she eyed the endless green trees for pirates. Wendy grasped the thimble on the silver chain at her neck as if for reassurance. It was not a long way to the Indian encampment, but the pirates could be lurking anywhere.

Wendy was not particularly skilled at navigating the forest unseen, and she worried at this. The dry crackling of a twig came from Wendy's far right. She nervously steadied her hand on her sword, unsheathing the weapon with a careful motion. She had never used a blade such as this. Her palms became damp as she looked to her left, her right. Wendy held the sword out with an awkward stance. Wendy was brave in many ways, but combat was not something she considered one of her attributes of bravery.

The forest was damp; even more so than before now that rain was bound to fall soon. Suddenly a whiff of rum caught in Wendy's nose, the horrid smell burning her senses. It soon became overpowering, and by then it was all too late.

"Little lass! What might a pretty thing like you be doing out here all alone eh?" the voice was rough, lined with a lust that frightened Wendy so that her limbs were frozen.

She saw the hand come from behind her and over her shoulder to grasp her mouth. In that moment she turned in a swift motion to face the brute. Her extended sword nearly sliced his outstretched hand, and the pirate reared back in surprise.

The man's face then displayed a sickening smirk. "Playful eh?" he drawled. The pirate pulled out a dagger and with deliberate slowness, placed the blade to his lips. His tongue flicked from his mouth as he licked the dirtied blade with gross satisfaction. "Captain said take no prisoners." He whispered, making sure Wendy could hear it. The man lunged forward in a fake attack, and Wendy jumped back as her instincts overtook her. The pirate let out a hearty laugh. "Frightened lass? Don't worry, it won't hurt a bit!"

At this the pirate lurked forward, headed for Wendy. He clasped her wrist, and squeezed causing Wendy to drop her sword and cry out in pain. Quickly, Wendy drew her knee back and brought it up against the man's thigh. He grunted, but did not release her.

He pulled her by her wrist toward him, and their noses touched. Wendy wrinkled her nose at his foul breath, terror wringing her insides as she struggled to get away. The pirate gave a swift, hard kick to Wendy's shin and her legs buckled with the painful reaction. She fell to her knees, but with a push she was knocked to her back.

Disoriented with pain and fear, Wendy had no escape. The pirate sat on her stomach now, his weight crushing the air from her. He grasped her flailing hands into one of his massive hands, and held them from hitting him. With the other hand, he held his blade. He pressed it to Wendy's cheek, drawing a drop of blood.

"Get off me you horrid brute! You disgusting pig!" Wendy screamed as she shook her head back and forth against the dirt.

"Shut up you!" the pirate shouted. He drew his hand back and brought it down across her face, slicing a gash into her cheek with his blade. Tears burned behind Wendy's eyes. All she could see was the pirate's grim coated face, the horrifying gaze of a killer.

As magic would have it, it was then that Wendy heard the crow; the wild call of her Peter. Peter Pan was back at Neverland, and he had, just as always in his stories, arrived in the nick of time.

**Oh what an evil cliffhanger I have left you all at! Will Peter save Wendy? What awaits the island as the pirates invade? Review if you wish. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello! Enjoy this chapter! The battle for Neverland begins. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything affiliated with the original Peter Pan. **

The crow was perfected imitation refined by immeasurable time. The echo of it sprang from beyond the treetops, a piercing cry of attack. Peter, his hands still cupped around his mouth, listened to the now distant echo of his wild call. He was sure the sound would reach even the very farthest sides of the island and be heard by the tuned ears of the Indians, perhaps even John, Michael, and Dawn.

Wendy blinked wildly, her fine lashes fluttering like the frantic wings of a hummingbird as she tried to clear her vision blurred by her tears. She choked for a gasp of air, struggling against the pirate's weight on her chest. She only needed just enough. Just enough air to cry his name.

"Pet-" at once her voice was cut off by a large hand smelling of rum. Wendy floundered under the man's weight, contorting in every direction her body could allow her.

The pirate chuckled deep in his throat, amused by her struggle. "Lovely lass, aren't ya?" He drew his face close to hers.

Wendy flinched as the man's scraggly mustache tickled her upper lip. His breath was foul as it reached her sniffling nose. His eyes were enormous with lusty intent. The old scars on his weathered skin were blackened with dirt, one stitched recently with crude effort. A tarnished silver chain dangled from his neck as he leaned fully on her frame, the metal of the chain touching her own neck.

Wendy's mind fluttered between gathering courage and giving up; but this is Neverland! There is no end to courage. There is no chance to give up. Her thoughts hooked on to shear desperation as she thought of her beloved Peter.

Peter Pan was the hero, there is no doubt about that, but must Wendy always be saved? A damsel in distress only waits for her hero, but this is not Wendy! There is a sliver of bravery that is instilled with the childish glint, and this has forever grown in Wendy.

Before reconsideration could be brought upon her determination by her breeding as a lady, Wendy closed her eyes, wrinkled her brow, and launched her head forward and off the ground. Her skull made blunt contact with the pirate's, sending a shattering pain to both their heads.

The pirate's head snapped back with the momentum of Wendy's hit, and with a howl of pain he rolled off of her. He slapped a hand on his forehead where blood now streamed down his scarred face. "You lousy cunt!" he snarled, turning back to face the girl.

Wendy struggled to twist herself onto her stomach and then get onto her knees. With her legs now folded under her, she attempted to stand. However, the dizzying effect of bashing her head against another brought her down. She slumped to her knees, her shoulders bent forward as she gasped panicked breaths of forest air.

Wendy reached out for a tree, supporting herself as he stumbled to her feet. The forest turned sideways and upside down as her vision struggled to come to a halt. She drew in a gasp and yelled. "Peter!"

A glimmer caught her eye in the green of the forest, and there on the ground was her sword. She rushed toward it, grasping its handle along with a clump of dampened dirt in her hand as she grabbed it while running. She knew the pirate was somewhere close. This time there would be no hesitation. She would stab the brute without a thought, except that of complete vengeance.

There came the crackling of brush right behind her. Wendy turned swiftly on her toes as a clumsy ballerina might, and thrust the weapon forward closing her eyes as she did this. She felt the tip of her thin sword graze something.

Wendy dreaded the moment when she would open her eyes. She had either wounded the pirate, or simply chipped him with the blade and he was fast approaching her. Her eyes shot open as she dared to witness the pirate's fate. However, what she saw before her caused an irrepressible screech of shock.

"Wendy, it's not very useful to close your eyes if you mean to stab a pirate." His voice was slightly deepened as he spoke. He had simply blocked Wendy's weapon with his hand.

"P-P… Peter!" Wendy breathed.

The boy before her was Peter indeed. His cocky smile was drawn to one side of his still boyish face, his lips curling delightfully. A black pirate bandanna was tied loosely around his head, tendrils of windblown hair falling from underneath it and into his face. His once white pirate shirt was now an eggshell color, and just a few buttons absent. He wore long black pants that nearly covered his dirt coated bare feet. Peter's shoulders were broader, more like that of a young man's, his once boyish frame now slightly more muscularly defined through his clothing. He still leaned to one side in a familiar careless stance. There was a sword at his side, recently stolen from a defeated pirate and slid through a belt loop. His dagger had always remained at his side, and still did in its original, worn leather sheath.

Wendy's heart fluttered now not with adrenaline, but with shear elation. Immediately she closed the short distance between them tossing her weapon aside, disregarding everything else completely. A familiar magical warmth rose in the Darling girl's chest.

"Wendy…" Peter murmured as her arms closed around his torso. Peter was taller; stature added to him in the absence of Neverland's magic. The boy was nearly two inches greater than Wendy in height. Peter in turn enclosed Wendy in his arms.

Peter felt Wendy's frame shiver against him, her sobs muffled against his tattered shirt. His brows came together in confused concern. "Wendy?" he asked softly. "Wendy, why are you crying?" Horrified that he must have done something wrong, Peter reeled with guilt. Perhaps he had grown too much? A flustered and childish agony lined his features.

"I was so worried about you." Wendy whispered, her voice nearly inaudible as she spoke into Peter's shoulder.

Peter suddenly gave a playful snort. "Ha! No need to worry about me. Why I'm the cleverest, strongest, greatest pirate in disguise you'll ever see!"

Wendy pulled back from against Peter, a lovely smile decorating her tear stained face. "Of course." She answered delightedly. "Of course."

* * *

John and Michael trotted along the rocky hillside, dipping down into the brush ever so often to take a breath and scan the forest edge for pirates. The wind came from the north side of the island, crashing against the cliffs at the south.

As John pondered the layout of the island, mapping each ridge, valley, lagoon, and shore in his mind, Michael stood guard. Silently, John tapped Michael's shoulder and gestured toward a tall section of brush that leaned against the jagged cliff side. The boys made their way to the brush in quieted steps with the knowledge that pirates could be near.

Now crouched in behind a spiny bush, their backs against the rough ocean worn rocks, they plotted the strategically sensible route to vanquish as many rum-driven seafarers as possible. John snapped a twig from the brush in front of him.

In the moist dirt he drew an estimated shape of the Neverland Island, marking ridges and mountains with small triangles and rivers and lagoons with slithering lines. John stared unblinkingly at his makeshift map for a moment before speaking.

"Here," John began as he drew an "x" to demonstrate the exact location. "is where the pirate ship would have made land."

Michael peered down at the "x" with a wondering expression. "What makes you say that?" he asked.

John adjusted his spectacles. "This side of the island has the widest range of shore line, so in the event that the pirates are forced backwards against the ocean, they have a desirable amount of ground to regain control. Also this cliff side here against the ocean provides excellent hiding places for the brutes in the rocks were the ocean has carves from caves. It's perfect for an ambush on the Indians. I'm assuming that this 'Scarcosta' woman Peter has mentioned before is on roughly the same level as Hook if not higher. So she would have planned to make land here. From what the Chief told me, Panther helped Scarcosta locate a box that he said contains a map of the entire island."

Michael nodded in vague understanding, as he could not argue with his brother's logic. "Right. So are we going to their base then?"

"Yes. We have to make our way to the ship and capture it. I don't know whether or not the captain will be on the ship or on the island with her troops, but we'll have to be prepared to run into her." John explained.

"Of course we'll take down some pirates on the way too." Michael mused. John let his hand fall onto the hilt of his sword at his side. The thrill of adventure and danger buzzed inside his body. Since he had returned to London when Wendy insisted that they go home and leave Neverland, John had read extensive amounts of tall tales. Myths, stories, and fictions all about pirates; their greed, their captain's calculating minds, their deviousness. Mr. Darling had bred John to be a banker in order to inherit the family wealth. However, among the collections of credit paperwork there had always been a fantasy book lying beneath it all, hidden and secret.

"Yes." John answered finally. "Let's have our own adventure."

* * *

Scarcosta spat into the earth of Neverland's forest; sweat beads lingering on her face. She slopped through the thick of a swampy portion of the island just near the mermaid lagoon. The gentle trickling and unhurried brush of the water over the rocks at the lagoon could be heard from her position. Scarcosta did not attempt to camouflage her violent intentions, for she knew that the mermaids possessed the ability to sense danger. Instead the captain pushed forward keeping her determined malevolence about her.

At last she broke through the forest edge to the lagoon. As she sliced down enormous foliage from her path, the darkened blue lagoon opened up before her. A grand cliff side rose from the far eastern side of the water, and there the water around it was darker, indicating its depth. Plateau- like rocks dotted the center of the pool, the water surrounding them lapping restlessly against the sides.

Scarcosta glanced up at the sky now visible in the absence of trees. Still looming storm clouds blocked the Neverland sun, casting only a dim light on the island. The lagoon, no longer glistening under the sun, gave an ominous feel to the air. The pool's surface was still, save for the ripples against the rocks. There was a murkiness caused by silent movement under the water stirring up the sand. The smooth dimness held a mysterious intent, the mermaids' presence becoming heavier but still unseen.

"Show yourselves you beastly she-fish!" Scarcosta shouted to the vacant appearing lagoon water. The captain's purpose was simple as well as perilous. Her knowledge of the mermaids that occupied these waters was vague, though she was certain they were allied with Peter. The only thing Scarcosta was unaware of was the nature of such creatures as mermaids. The mermaids of Neverland simply adored Peter. Their fawning over his Pan Pipe melodies, their sweet playfulness as they twirled the tendrils of his hair; it was the expression of complete surrender to Peter's charm. Although Peter had no interest in the mermaids the way in which they were interest in him, he considered them a part of his gang and often gathering information on the pirates from their travels out to sea. There was that, and he very much enjoyed their constant show of attention toward him. However this fondness was directed only toward Peter. Perhaps it was his magic, or perhaps just his boyish charm, but the mermaids of Neverland considered all others besides Peter to be a nuisance. Every other person that wandered into their lagoon domain was a toy, a malevolently good time to be had. This perhaps was the origin of the pirate legends of mermaids. For they lured them in with soft, irresistible song and once they just reached the edge of the water, it was death.

A ripple sounded suddenly from a corner of the water with a small movement of something just barely flicking the surface. The melody that ensued then came from nowhere and everywhere, the air around the lagoon clouding with the eerie tones. Like a chorus of delicate voices, the song rose from the water. The haunting sounds swelled against the dense forest, seeming to encompass all other voices of the island, quieting even the wind.

A dismal emotion twisted Rosaline's heart, unnamed sorrow circling her mind. Unearthly melodies from the mermaids' entrancement grew slightly louder, echoing now against the narrow cliff side. Silently, glistening wet faces of surreal beauty began rising from beneath the calm, murky water. The eyes of each, a sharp blue accompanied by intermingling flecks of green; every pair of them were unblinking and still. Only one of them rose further out of the water. She leaned back against one of the plateau rocks, exposing her mysterious form only from the waist up. Her image was dazzling, an incandescent beauty. Her slender form leered at Scarcosta. The mermaid's bare chest glistened, beads of silvery water, rolling down her breasts and her stomach. Her pale complexion and shimmering golden locks contrasted against the dim lit lagoon.

For a moment Rosaline's mind was completely still, enthralled by the continuous melody, the mysterious creature before her. The spell cast on her was drawing the captain closer, closer to the water. Her leather boots padded slowly against the damp sand of the lagoon shore as she closed the distance between her and the mermaids.

Suddenly the mermaid song grew lazier, slightly less alluring than before. This occurred just as Scarcosta was nearly within reach of the lingering creatures. Gently, with a sinister playfulness, one of the mermaids stroked Rosaline's sodden boots. Suddenly, the dark haired mermaid wrapped her long fingers around the pirate captain's ankle. Almost simultaneously, as the melody faded, Rosaline was thrust from the entrancement and realized the danger to her.

Horrified at her close proximity to the awaiting water, Scarcosta gripped her sword and slashing blindly at the hand gripping her leg. A pained hiss came from the mermaid, as she drew her bloodied hand back into the water, sinking finally until she was submerged. Several mermaids now exposed their pointed, fang-like teeth, hissing with aggravation.

The golden haired mermaid that had been leaning against the rock, now disappeared under the water, soon followed by all others. Rosaline stumbled back from the shore to where she was certain the she-fish could not reach her. From its hostler at her belt, she drew her pistol, determined to take at least a few of the mermaids out of commission. Any ally of Peter's was to be killed on sight, and this she had ordered of her crew in the event that they should find a member of his side. Take no prisoners. She wanted no one to interfere with the battle she would have with Peter.

Her thumb cocked the pistol. The mermaids were completely concealed, even as Rosaline scanned for any movement under the surface. With little consideration the captain stepped right against the shore of the lagoon, hoping to draw the mermaids to her. She knew now that their intention had been to drag her under.

A hand crashed to the surface, followed instantly by the head of a red haired mermaid. The mermaid's torso followed suit as she launched herself from the water in attempt to grab Rosaline by the legs. Rosaline swiftly stepped back, just avoiding the grasp of the mermaid. The mermaid was temporarily beached as she had flung herself too far on the land. Her scaled green tail flopped hopelessly behind her, splattering wet sand into the air. She clawed against the sand still reaching for Scarcosta's boot.

Taking her chance, Rosaline stepped forward and plunged her sword into the exposed back of the mermaid. The agonized cry of the creature pierced Rosaline's ears, as its high pitch resonated against the cliff side. Now noticeable gills fluttered against the neck of the creature as it gasped, its metallic skin glowing against the sand.

Rosaline jerked her weapon from the writhing mermaid with a swift, unsympathetic pull. Suddenly the mermaid lay still in the sand, her gills no longer pulsing, her tail lifeless and twisted. In an instant there was a shrill rising of newly angered hisses from the water accompanied by shrieks of sorrow.

Scarcosta shot blindly into the water, the impact of the bullets spraying droplets from the surface. She fired a shot, cocked the gun, and after she had polished off three rounds, watched as blood dissipated in the water like smoke.

* * *

Something inside Peter's chest curled and contorted as he heard the faint but distinct cries. No other creature he knew could make this shriek, so high pitched that it battered one's ear drums.

"The… mermaids…" he whispered incoherently. Wendy looked up from dusting the dirt from her Indian crafted clothing.

"Peter? What is it?" she asked, the gentlest concern in her tone.

"The mermaids!" Peter shouted.

"What about the merma-"

"Come on Wendy! We have to get to the lagoon!" Peter quickly interjected. He grasped Wendy by the arm pulling her with him as he ascended. Wendy's frame was slightly resistant to Peter's grasp, for she cared nothing for the mermaids of Neverland. A selfish agitation grew over her as she remembered the mermaids toying with her, flipping their tails intentionally hard against the lagoon so that the water soaked Wendy's nightgown. Though Wendy would not admit it, the mermaids cheeky fawning over Peter stuck a horrid bell of jealousy in her.

Now though, after missing Peter for the immeasurable time she had, Wendy was not about to let her love out of her sight. At the moment Wendy and Peter broke through the canopy of the forest, the foreboding chill of the air silenced them both. Feeling this, Peter dashed through the air tugging Wendy along behind him as he flew with great speed.

The treetops flew below them, the variations of greens morphing together. Without warning the green broke off into a deep blue. Peter began the descent as he and Wendy angled their bodies downward toward Marooner's rock.

Peter alit with Wendy on the rock, hastily retrieving his Pan Pipes from his side. With precise fingers, he played the soft song of the mermaid call. Long legato notes followed swiftly by a flurry of pitches. The sound echoed; the dead feel of the lagoon only brought to the foreground now by the unanswered melody.

Peter halted mid-tune and stared at the unmoving water around the rock. Why had the mermaids not answered?

Wendy stood silent against Peter. She peered across the lagoon toward the shore. There a strangely familiar figure stood just against the forest edge. Her dark locks fell into her eyes, her captain's hat held tight in her fingers along with a bloodied sword. Wendy's gaze traveled from the pirate captain Scarcosta to the sand were a mermaid lay dead, her back still glistening with water beads.

As Wendy looked back at Rosaline, Rosaline looked on at Wendy. Simultaneously both women realized what this encounter meant. Wendy was stark still as she watched a devilish smirk curl upon Scarcosta's rouge lips.

Peter felt Wendy's frame stiffen beside him. With a mischievous flash Peter's eyes caught the sight of his enemy. Peter grinned with excitement nearly forgetting all about the missing mermaids; that is until his gaze settled on the bleeding creature on the sand. His eyes flickered from his dead friend, to Scarcosta's sword, and to her smoking gun.

"The mermaids are lovely creatures. Unfortunately they are dreadfully annoying. I couldn't very well have them swimming free on my island now could I?" Scarcosta mocked. She watched as Peter's features betrayed his rage. "Oh, are you angry with me?" she teased, leaning forward and imitating Peter's pouting face. "Have you forgotten that this is war?" Scarcosta shouted.

Peter shot back with the first chance her got, stepping forward on the rock. "Your enemy is me you stupid minnow! Why I'll… I'll leave you with stumps for hands and give ya a peg leg as a souvenir!" Peter pointed furiously at the captain now. "I'll slaughter your worthless crew! I'll leave you with nothing!"

Rosaline scoffed loudly, her mood turning sour. "You've already left me with nothing!" she screamed. Long gone was the composure of the feared Captain Scarcosta. It had withered with her underlying hatred, her ripped heart. Such grief was all consuming, and no amount of planning could hinder the imitate explosion. "You took him away! I already have nothing! Kill that crew of lazy bastards, I don't care! I want your death Peter! There is no crocodile come to devour me! There are no she-fish come to drown me! There are no Indians to shoot me with their arrows! You! You are the only threat to me. I'll spill your blood and then this island will be without the magical flying nuisance it so tolerates!"

Scarcosta cocked her pistol and took aim for Wendy. "But first I will leave you alone as you have left me." Her voice was nearly inaudible as she said this, her hand trembling wildly as the pistol nose centered on Wendy's breast.

Peter saw this immediately.

All things happened simultaneously; Rosaline's pistol shot rang out, Wendy screamed, and Peter threw his body at Wendy, outstretching his arms to circle around her.

With the force of Peter's momentum, the two were thrown off Marooner's rock. With labored effort Peter zipped right across the lagoon and disappeared with Wendy into the tree line.

Wendy resisted the blackness coming over her eyes, for she knew this was no time to faint. She felt the air rush around her and the image of the lagoon below her was replaced by the damp soil of the forest ground. However suddenly, Wendy realized that the ground was coming up to them, or rather they were falling to the ground at great speed. She struggled to turn her head and look at Peter who was grasping her tightly around the waist. At the moment she knew something was horribly wrong, the two crashed to the ground.

Wendy cried out as she and Peter skidded into the dirt. For a moment she was motionless, stunned by the fall, her arms and legs scraped and bruised. She moaned as she used her shaken arm to push herself off of her stomach.

"Peter." She called hurriedly. "Peter!" Her eyes searched about the ground. Instantly his form caught her eye.

Wendy rushed to him, stumbling on her wavering legs. She knelt beside him as he lie face down in the dirt. Peter stirred, a small groan escaping him. He began to push himself up, though his arms nearly gave in as he tried.

"Peter!" Wendy gasped. "Are you alright?"

Peter hoisted himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the thick trunk of a tree. With one hand he swiped the dirt off his face and gave a pained smile. "Of course, Wendy." He whispered. Peter attempted to conceal the burning at his side. His hand pressed firmly against his left side, the warm blood already seeping through his fingers. Wendy studied his false smile; her eyes became filled with anxiety as she saw Peter's brows knit together in agony. Peter quickly turned his head from her as he winced, pressing harder on his wound.

"Peter!" Wendy screeched. "She's shot you." The Darling girl's gaze settled on Peter's side, his hand still covering the shot. With tenderness much like a mother, Wendy placed her hand over Peter's. "Let me see." She demanded. Peter childishly shook his head.

"I'm fine, Wendy…we have to go… make… sure…" Peter's voice trailed off as he was unable to keep it from wavering under the pain. It appeared that he had attempted for a moment to stand up, and instead had only been able to lean forward, gasping in pain.

"Let me see it." Wendy said again. There was a demand to her tone, but this was only briefly heard under the concern. Peter slowly peeled his hand from the gape, revealing the extent of his wound to Wendy.

Wendy knew instantly that he had thrown himself onto her at the lagoon in order to protect her. "Oh, Peter." She cried as she looked at the wound. "You… you didn't…" Tears threatened the barrier at her eyes, dignity blocking the way. Wendy Darling was afraid. Her Peter, her Peter was hurt and death was no stranger in Neverland. It did not choose to claim only pirates.

"Wendy…" Peter said. He forced her gaze up as he placed his fingers under her chin.

However, before anything more could be said. A great trudging came to their ears. The pirate's boots came into view first, the black leather familiar and unwelcome. Scarcosta's delighted smile gleamed as she looked down upon Peter lying against the tree. "Silly, silly boy." She chanted. "Your life is mine now."

**Oh dear. Poor Peter. Will Scarcosta kill the great Peter Pan after all? What will be the fate of John and Michael as they attempt to capture the "Vixen's Revenge"? What has become of the mermaids? Review if you wish, though they are greatly appreciated. **


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello there! So sorry it's been so long! Enjoy the story :D **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything affiliated with the original Peter Pan. **

The winds were high, sweeping the salty mist from the ocean into the forest. John and Michael were very much at the ready, their weapons constantly in contact with their anxious hands. The drawn black sails were bluntly visible against the dawning Neverland sky, the dim clouds tinted a light bluish. The ship had been dragged into the sand, the majority of its hull beached. A few scattered pirates stood as groggy guards to the ship, a few taking swigs from their rum canteens. John studied them.

"Disposable." He muttered. "The pirates on the beach are hardly ideal guards. They don't appear to be very able fighters. So the real guards must actually be on the ship itself. These hoodlums," he whispered gesturing to the beach, "are just a buffer, or rather a warning system for those onboard."

Michael nodded. "We could easily eliminate those guards, but their fighting us would be a warning for the others to prepare, or perhaps shoot us. What shall we do John?"

There were far too many disposable guards along the beach to kill without notice. The boys were stuck, and John and Michael were not ones to fly recklessly into battle. They knew well the presence of danger that lingered with the stench of rum. John stared through his spectacles with an intensely calculating look in his eyes. He set up various scenes in his head, playing out each possible method of battle he would conjure. However, each carried far too much risk.

Michael busied himself by counting the number of rum bottles and canteens among the pirates. "Thirty two!" he said aloud. "Really I don't think pirates can function without that vile rum! It's simply insanity."

"Michael… where do you suppose they keep all that rum?" John inquired. There was an idea sprouting inside him, and a devious smirk tugged his lips.

"In barrels? Probably in the bottom chambers of the ship." Michael answered, recounting the bottles with his eyes.

"And what do you suppose would happen if all of the rum were to…disappear?" John was no longer really asking Michael this, instead he was planning aloud. Michael started a bit, understanding his brothers intentions vaguely now.

"Yes, yes!" he whispered excitedly. "There would be chaos!" The Darling boys smiled at each other, finding the picturesque plan playing in their minds quite inviting.

…

The beaches of Neverland swarmed with hundreds of boots kicking at the sand, drudging drunkenly, violently along. Some pirates smirked wildly, with a bravery and an anger gifted from an alcoholic swig. Others roared, spraying curses from their toothless mouths, hissing and wishing death upon the island. The misshapen army lurched forward into the island forest after the Indians. A few pirates lay dead in the sand, arrows in their chests from the native defense of the beach. The dead were simply trodden over, some stripped of their rum flasks, others of their gold teeth. The pirate brigade carried no respect for their comrades, and certainly none for the enemy. They were dangerous, ugly, killing men that led lives continuously hounded by a flying boy and their own abusive captains. The only satisfaction they had, the only satisfaction they wanted, was to drink and to kill. A small group of pirates cheered as they lit torches of wood and oil soaked cloth. A few threw bottles of oil into the forest edge and the torches followed, setting the trees ablaze.

The Indians ran like swift animals, expertly flashing through the Neverland forest. Dawn struggled to keep up, concentrating her sights on Tiger Lilly, determined not lose her and fall behind. She ran and leapt and rolled, her gaze flickering from the pathway ahead to her feet and back again. Though she never looked back, she knew the pirates were stumbling along close behind them. The beach had become overrun with them, and Tiger Lilly had commanded a retreat in broken, urgent English.

Dawn's hands groped around in the air behind her, her shoulder paining with the effort to find an arrow from her quiver on her back while running. The forest whispered about her, the canopies shivering with a wind that carried a storm on its breath.

A few pistol shots rang out amongst the trees behind them. Tree bark split sickeningly as bullets glanced the trunks. The stench of rum and gunpowder slithered closer. The fires behind grew hotter, the wind sending sparks among the canopies, spreading the flames until they grew into wild blazes. Tiger Lilly suddenly stopped, skidding in the dirt under her bare feet and throwing up her hand silently to signal a halt. Even the warriors in front of her knew to halt, but they had not looked back. She stood listening for a moment, inhaling deeply. The beads woven in her long braid clamored softly as she turned her head this direction and that; watching, measuring, feeling. The war paint on her body glistened with her heat. The reds and heavy blacks of it added a smoldering look to the fierce girl. Another Indian, a burly man, armed with a hatchet, placed a knowing hand on Tiger Lilly's shoulder.

"Storm coming," she whispered. She drew her shoulders up straight and took a commanding stance at the center of the Indian gang. "We will bring battle to the cliffs. Pirates cannot make fire there to burn our forest. Pirates die there soon," she shouted, repeating her command in the Indian tongue.

…

The field laid before them, the grass swaying restlessly in the stormy wind. The Indians faced the field, their backs to a massive rock face of jagged, black stone. Archers settled themselves in the cliff face, crouching in enclaves of the rock, calmly readying their bows. The largest men stood beside Tiger Lilly at the front lines. Their painted faces were serene and determined. They would fight and accept death on this soil for their island, for their leader, and for Peter.

Dawn stood beside Tiger Lilly also, examining her arrows, checking her dagger at her side. She ran nervous fingers along the tips of her arrows and through their feathered ends. She thought about the swords of the pirates, and their ruthlessness in killing. And she thought on Peter. How brave he was, how brave he had made them all. Dawn took a breath, and it was an exhilarating breath of adventure. Dawn could carry cups and cater to formal, rich guests. As a maid, this was all she ever took pride in. But, here all that was forgotten. A new loyalty had blossomed in her. Her childish glint shone like the Neverland star itself, winking and brightening with each passing moment. Here Dawn could hunt wild boar and murder pirates with the flick of her fingertips. Here, in Neverland, adventure and danger was elation, it was purpose. The beauty of it created a rise in Dawn that sent all her nerves into a heat, a blaze. She readied herself.

Soon the pirates emerged from the trees across the field. They reeked of smoke and sweat. Fire crackled and soared in the forest behind them, hot as the rage of the Indians. It burned crimson against the night. The pirates came without a leader, their captain Scarcosta nowhere in sight. This sight, or rather the lack of sight of the captain, startled Dawn. In all of the stories and legends John had read constantly of and told Dawn about, this was not the regular manner of pirate war. The pirates came packed in a gang of hundreds. They came slumping and grinning, pistols and knives ready, thirsty for a vengeance on the Indians.

The air was thick and hot. A storm brewed in the clouds, dominating the once pure sky. Tiger Lilly stepped forward. Her loyal tribe began to move with her, but she halted them with a simple motion of her hand. The pirates stood still smirking and hissing, waiting. Tiger Lilly turned her face fully towards the sky. The sight and the feeling of it seemed to pain every nerve in her.

The Indian girl's steps were precise and swift; she knew every inch of this island, every rock and ditch and tree. She walked forward towards the pirates again. This time she waved for the tribe to follow her. Her heritage was this island, her love and her body and her tribe were a part of its very soul. There passion to protect became pitted against the pirate's lust to kill and indulge in their greed.

Tiger Lilly stopped and looked towards Dawn. "Peter's good friend, I have sensed great trouble with Peter." The Indian princess peered at the sky as if something in it were speaking to her. Her beautiful brow furrowed as she watched cold storm clouds converge over the island. "I thank you. You fight well, like true Indian with your arrows, but I ask of you. Please to protect Peter. Leave pirates to us. We will defend island with death."

Dawn felt her protest on her tongue, but held it. "Something with Peter…" she muttered. Everything in her being trusted Tiger Lilly, as she seemed to be a part of the island, a part of the grand connection between it and Peter. "Where is he?" Dawn asked.

"I've felt pain from lagoon. I hear the mermaids screaming beneath the ground." Tiger Lilly's brows came together and her pronounced mouth set as a look of gritty, and somehow still strikingly beautiful rage came over her face. "He is there, I feel."

"I'll go." Dawn said determinately.

Tiger Lilly came to Dawn and embraced her. "How is it Peter always says?" she asked. "Faith and fairy dust…"

"Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust," Dawn replied instantly. Tiger Lilly pulled away and nodded.

"Yes. We cannot let that go."

…

The pixie dust fell gently into the Darling boys' hands, warming them with the pleasant sensation that existed only in this magical powder. Michael patted his hands together excitedly, sending the glittering dust flying. He rubbed it gleefully over his face, grinning at John who choked back a boyish laugh.

"Save some, we need it for the plan," John warned. John patted himself with the dust, smattering it over his shirt and head. "Weapons check," John commanded. The two boys both secured their daggers, swords, and pistols. Michael nodded at John, confirming that everything was at the ready. John tied his bag of pixie dust close and looped it around his belt, tying the knot double for security. Michael did the same. The Darling boys peered out of the thick leaves at the beach, eyeing the ship. John retrieved a spyglass from his pocket.

He placed it on the ground for a moment to adjust and clean his glasses. The spyglass began to float, drifting upwards lazily as if it meant to fly sneakily away. The pixie dust from John's hands had rubbed on the device and set magic upon it. Michael quickly leapt up and grasped it.

"Potent dust!" Michael teased. "Oh! John! Your glasses!" Just as Michael said this, John's glasses floated right off his nose. He groped wildly for them, catching them before they rose from the bushes they crouched behind.

"My god! I suppose the stuff is a bit unpredictable without Peter's hand to spread it," John commented. Michael let out a boyish giggle.

"All the more exciting!" he said.

John let a smile through, and the boys turned once again to the ship. The "Vixen's Revenge" sat partially beached in the sand. Its sails were drawn in, the ship still except for the wood's groaning. Pirates stood patrol on the beach, but this was no matter to John and Michael. John's improvised plan set into motion as the boys rose into the air, shooting quickly for the storm clouds above for cover.

Chilled wind rushed at them from every angle high above the storm clouds as they hovered over them. The boys glanced at each other, nodding knowingly. In the pit of their stomachs, excitement churned and rolled, the fibers of their bodies trembling with the elation of adventure. The allure of the danger they faced was unmatched. It was so much more that one could imagine. It was a great deal more. It was the reality of the fantasy that John and Michael had so engrossed themselves in as children. It was their role playing, their playing amongst make believe forts and ships made from blankets and tables come to life. In fact, it hadn't just come to life. It had been there all along, the Neverland star winking and waiting.

So down they plunged, fast and fleeting towards Scarcosta's ship below, knowing nothing for certain except the danger of pirates that lay before them. John and Michael swooped through the storm clouds, an electric charge temporarily sticking to them. The charge made their hairs stand on end. A flicker of electricity flashed through John's metallic glasses frame. As they rushed down, bearing on the ship the great masts came up to greet them, and the Darling boys landed gracefully on them, quickly hiding themselves among the rolling fabric of the closed sails.

John and Michael had hidden in masts opposite to each other. Both boys lay in the folds of the black sails. The fabric was damp, drenched with the salty scent of sea water. Both boys drew their daggers and cut careful holes in the fabric, just enough to peer out of. Through these, John and Michael squinted at the deck below them.

It was just as John had predicted. The pirates on the beach had been scrubs. The real guards, the weathered fighters stood guard on the deck of the ship, pacing menacingly from one end to the other with an expression that lusted for the slaughter of anything to cross their path.

…

The forest zoomed out past Dawn with an urgency like a desperate fairy. The Neverland was eerily dim, the sounds, the animals; the very air of it crawling around her in an unusually lamenting manner. She ran dangerously fast, leaping over tree roots and stones the way the Indians had taught her. She feared tripping; feeling that if she stopped even for a moment something disastrous would gain time to unfold. She ran only knowing vaguely was direction the lagoon was in as Tiger Lilly had pointed it out to her.

But it wasn't long before she herself heard the cries of the mermaids. Their howls were like sounds that come on the wind; distant, yet thick and clear when they pass. Their wails of despair were horrifying. They rose from Neverland with a tremendous sadness and such intense anger that Dawn imagined that all the ocean could hear them. Dawn followed the cries through the forest, all the while gathering bravery for herself in thoughts of the Indians, John, Michael, Wendy, and most of all, Peter.

Just before she came to the lagoon, Dawn halted at the edge of the forest, peering from the foliage to seek out Peter. She scanned the lagoon's edge and nearly gasped at the horrid sight she saw. A mermaid dead in the sand, her body growing pale, her hair strewn around her in tangles, her tail lying twisted, and a terrible sword wound in her back. Other mermaids tried to reach her, throwing themselves onto the sand of the lagoon, lunging to reach her tail and bring her back to the water. Some of them rose from the water to scream and then dove back, as if their grief could not be contained by the water and they must release it elsewhere. They clawed at the sand miserably. Others bobbed their heads at the opposite side of the lagoon, sneering and hissing at some presence close by in the woods. One of the mermaids sensed Dawn's presence and stopped to peer at her. Dawn stared into the mermaid's gleaming eyes feeling at once the emotion they held. But they held something else. As the mermaid looked at Dawn, they held a welcoming desperation. This was far different from the normal cursing attitude of the mermaids towards people whom were not Peter. The mermaid turned her head deliberately, looking out across the lagoon towards the forest just beyond where Dawn stood.

Dawn knew that that was where Peter must be.

She chose a path through the woods, rather than across the lagoon, lest an enemy see her in the open. If only she knew that there was such an enemy.

…

The captain's presence was like a flame. Scarcosta steamed with the hate she had carried, with the rage and vengeance that twisted in her veins, that pulsed behind her eyes, that twitched in her fingertips as she ran them over her gun. Dawn drew in a quick breath and held it so that she might not gasp as she halted all too suddenly in a patch of close trees before Scarcosta's back. She skidded on the fallen leaves, and steadied herself against a tree, half peering around it. She huffed wildly through her nose, exhausted from her dash across the island, but determined not to make a sound. Before her she saw Wendy sitting half-sprawled on the ground, desperate with fear. Dawn gazed past Scarcosta's quivering shoulders and caught sight of Peter. It was clear he was wounded, badly if not mortally. Blood trickled through his fingers at his side and his head lolled back in pain. Even as he fought blinding pain, his eyes, his eyes never left Scarcosta. They never flickered even for a moment. The green of his eyes was deathly focused with a grim protectiveness outlined by his furrowed brows; he stared up at the pirate captain and his lips twitched up. A mischievous grin crawled all the way up to his ears.

Scarcosta pointed her pistol at Wendy. "Now, don't you move dearie." She held the gun at Wendy's breast and leaned down ever so slightly and took up Peter's dagger from his side. Peter tried to stay her hand, clasping her wrist with his bloodied hand only to have it slip easily from his weakened grip. Scarcosta clicked her tongue in a cruel, mocking disapproval. "Tsk, tsk, boy. You shouldn't play with weapons. Ah! And now look, you've stained my sleeve with your blood. No matter. I should like the tinge of your blood all over me. I'll tear you open and leave you to bleed on the beach for the buzzards just like you left my beloved."

Peter drew a hissing breath through his teeth. "Was…he…a pirate?"

"A man. A lover. A pirate, yes." Scarcosta spat.

"Then he deserved to be struck down!" shouted Peter.

"No!" screamed Scarcosta, stomping a foot. Now the captain had lost all delight in composure and let her emotion overtake her. Her wild black hair shook with her wild stomps against the packed forest dirt. "No no no no NO!" she yelled. "Never! NEVER! You think we chose this life boy? You are not so different from pirates yourselves, pillaging our ships for your own comedy! For your own game! Claiming it defense of your pathetic little island! You're nothing but children running rambunctious and wild claimed by some magic that dusts you. You may never grow old Peter Pan, but you will die. You will die a boy just as you have always been and your legacy will crumble. You're as forgetful as an old drunk. You're memories and moods change like seasons. You think these children, your mates, will remember you? After a few island nights they won't remember so much as your name! You will die! Neverland will die! It will become an island like any other and be hewed by pirates or swallowed by the sea! You kill and murder as if it is nothing, but life is not such a game!"

"You murder indiscriminately!" Wendy shouted, chiming in bravely as hot anger boiled over inside her. She forgot momentarily about the gun pointed towards her and said her peace as a roused lady can. "You keep your own crew in check with the fear of death at your hand as Hook once did! How can such a ruthless pirate chide of making death a game if you don't value life yourself!"

Scarcosta's expression grew desperate. All of the killing she had done as captain had never tamed or touched the loathsome sadness within her. She felt that revenge, ugly as it was, would cure her. She'd dreamt of killing Peter many times over but now that the moment was in her hands she felt the fear she had pushed away creep up her back and stick against her shoulders; the fear that killing this boy would do nothing. She wanted to destroy something; to cause destruction akin to the decimation that occurred in her. Captain Scarcosta wanted to destroy a world, and killing Peter Pan, the living body of Neverland, the mystic spirit of a thousand selfish children, would drown an island. It would smudge out a star. "I did value life! I valued love! I'd have given everything I had for him! I'd have taken Peter's damn blade to my own heart to have it so my love would live! Can't you see? Hate has blackened me. I had taken from me the only thing to cherish. The only treasure greater than all the ships of an armada lined with gold! And my only solace is to steal the greatest of treasures from this place, the light of Peter Pan."

Peter listened as Scarcosta screamed her pain into his face. He watched placidly as she drew his dagger from its sheath and raised it high above her head. "You old minnow," he muttered.

**Oh goodness. Will Dawn take action against Scarcosta? Will Wendy? Does Peter have the strength to keep fighting? What has become of the Indians? Will John and Michael be successful in their plan against the pirates? Neverland is a quite a lot of trouble. **


End file.
